I added him as a friend on FACEBOOK, and wrote him a little mash note remembering fondly his appearance on Andy Warhol's MTV swansong show (with his awesome toy-seme car!)...then I intimated that a certain Japanese megastar in the art world might owe him more than a little bit of thanks, and Kenny seemed to be in agreement...
Mr. Scharf responded...
Kenny sent you a message.
Subject: art
"thanks for the props. i wish some of those japanese artists your refering to would at least acknowledge my existence. he claims hes never seen my work! right. i always give props to my influences and inspirations... thanks"
I love Kenny Scharf.
He wore the coolest Pennsylvanian hunting jacket on that Andy Warhol show.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Laundry Sonnet
A cat was compelled
To worry about God
I sits painting
abcdefg is light
They die because of
Format worries God
Judge your cached friends Only
I am my clumsiness life
A lark with a swayback's
Usually not an official color
Sup?
Is saying what most Americans actually do?
Yes or snowman
"it" physics sucks
To worry about God
I sits painting
abcdefg is light
They die because of
Format worries God
Judge your cached friends Only
I am my clumsiness life
A lark with a swayback's
Usually not an official color
Sup?
Is saying what most Americans actually do?
Yes or snowman
"it" physics sucks
Our Bio
An angel has a body.
Lovers have Lake Erie.
You have died.
Sometime in the future
it will be lavendar.
What killed you?
It was a process like spongecake.
Most likely.
It was one century or other.
Peaches.
A lover.
A snowstorm over your vehicle.
Does it really matter?
You fascinated a few.
Are you very particular
like a rainbow trout?
Even now?
Vanished.
Fog feels its way along.
Around the bank and tombstones both.
Mostly children's games.
You were fascinated.
The grammar received nobody.
But safer place lovely.
Sympathy flowers.
We put angels in the cemeteries.
People forgot Saul Bellow.
Gradually.
We washed clothes.
We said Merci.
We imagined brothers and adjectives.
We didn't do that badly.
When we weren't killing.
Complete moons were rarer
than the incomplete versions.
Why we invented streelights.
People counted them
as they walked out a thought.
Until the end of time.
Lovers have Lake Erie.
You have died.
Sometime in the future
it will be lavendar.
What killed you?
It was a process like spongecake.
Most likely.
It was one century or other.
Peaches.
A lover.
A snowstorm over your vehicle.
Does it really matter?
You fascinated a few.
Are you very particular
like a rainbow trout?
Even now?
Vanished.
Fog feels its way along.
Around the bank and tombstones both.
Mostly children's games.
You were fascinated.
The grammar received nobody.
But safer place lovely.
Sympathy flowers.
We put angels in the cemeteries.
People forgot Saul Bellow.
Gradually.
We washed clothes.
We said Merci.
We imagined brothers and adjectives.
We didn't do that badly.
When we weren't killing.
Complete moons were rarer
than the incomplete versions.
Why we invented streelights.
People counted them
as they walked out a thought.
Until the end of time.
To Do List Sonnet
Write a shopping cart.
Push existence.
Ignore artists.
Steam grammar in winter.
Pity receptionists.
Shove cemeteries around.
Congratulate the birds.
Synopsize sex.
Humor money.
Recycle grifts.
Misplace engrams.
Solicit unicorns.
Marry nobody.
Snowplow Hell.
Push existence.
Ignore artists.
Steam grammar in winter.
Pity receptionists.
Shove cemeteries around.
Congratulate the birds.
Synopsize sex.
Humor money.
Recycle grifts.
Misplace engrams.
Solicit unicorns.
Marry nobody.
Snowplow Hell.
Rejection Notice I Would Send
If your novel doesn't have as least
as many holes as a shopping cart
I'm not reading it.
I'm sorry, that's just how it is.
All her dreams are gummi sharks
and gummi worms.
She's lovely. Like her
you should be separated from your life
by something other than a comma
that's forgotten the sentence
to which it (allegedly) belongs.
I felt all
Jon Benet Ramsay
in a Dollar Tree.
Friday evening.
Sparkle shoes
I wanted so badly.
To wear for you.
This is all how good novels end.
as many holes as a shopping cart
I'm not reading it.
I'm sorry, that's just how it is.
All her dreams are gummi sharks
and gummi worms.
She's lovely. Like her
you should be separated from your life
by something other than a comma
that's forgotten the sentence
to which it (allegedly) belongs.
I felt all
Jon Benet Ramsay
in a Dollar Tree.
Friday evening.
Sparkle shoes
I wanted so badly.
To wear for you.
This is all how good novels end.
Winter Defenses
He asks a metaphysical question
of a book jacket with a chubby.
He feels sheepish.
He becomes a sheep.
He starts a ridiculous press.
It publishes the unwilling ones,
the ones who have something to say.
And refuse to say it.
He likes to flip through the pages
of these books, this refusal...
He died.
It didn't suffice.
Well, there was the loom thing
for a while but that ended.
He grows seriously phobic about poets.
He begins to nickname poets things like "Deimos," "Phobos," "Enyo," etc.
He draws a line through Brooklyn.
He keeps guessing how many years old
a rock is which he picked up off the street.
He sees the poem as weird chubby insurance.
He believes in the power of separated freaks.
He lives in a state that starts with the letter Z.
He wonders how he continue to receive mail
due to the oddity of this true fact.
He is amused by the way birds shove existence around,
outside the TARGET store
with its big red spheres made of unknown substance.
He's a tad jealous.
Nobody believes he will ever complete anything.
He points out that the radio never completed anything either.
He thinks this is his best defense
and he is sticking to it.
of a book jacket with a chubby.
He feels sheepish.
He becomes a sheep.
He starts a ridiculous press.
It publishes the unwilling ones,
the ones who have something to say.
And refuse to say it.
He likes to flip through the pages
of these books, this refusal...
He died.
It didn't suffice.
Well, there was the loom thing
for a while but that ended.
He grows seriously phobic about poets.
He begins to nickname poets things like "Deimos," "Phobos," "Enyo," etc.
He draws a line through Brooklyn.
He keeps guessing how many years old
a rock is which he picked up off the street.
He sees the poem as weird chubby insurance.
He believes in the power of separated freaks.
He lives in a state that starts with the letter Z.
He wonders how he continue to receive mail
due to the oddity of this true fact.
He is amused by the way birds shove existence around,
outside the TARGET store
with its big red spheres made of unknown substance.
He's a tad jealous.
Nobody believes he will ever complete anything.
He points out that the radio never completed anything either.
He thinks this is his best defense
and he is sticking to it.
Normal Upbringing
Can I offer you a free psychic mistake,
a heavy letter, something?
As they modeled each Fall,
they fell. Further and further.
They fell from lavendar or something.
The Lovers.
I don't believe Milton shows Satan
eating popcorn, but he might have.
But those are children.
There is a catechism.
It begins, "We have observed
you seem to be living an afterlife
as a porn princess,
you have met a psycho
who is like a thirty years blizzard
and you no longer
sit at the dinner table...
It ends with a fuckme tattoo,
green eyelashes
and a building in a state far away.
Maybe corn leans against the apartment building
sometimes at night,
and it gives her comfort.
She smiles when she remembers
spraypainting evil live swans blue
in the artificial lake.
a heavy letter, something?
As they modeled each Fall,
they fell. Further and further.
They fell from lavendar or something.
The Lovers.
I don't believe Milton shows Satan
eating popcorn, but he might have.
But those are children.
There is a catechism.
It begins, "We have observed
you seem to be living an afterlife
as a porn princess,
you have met a psycho
who is like a thirty years blizzard
and you no longer
sit at the dinner table...
It ends with a fuckme tattoo,
green eyelashes
and a building in a state far away.
Maybe corn leans against the apartment building
sometimes at night,
and it gives her comfort.
She smiles when she remembers
spraypainting evil live swans blue
in the artificial lake.
for the troubled dads
Do you worry about God as a persistent judge?
Do you worry about who will watch you die?
Do you worry about the giant squid's foiled aspirations?
Do you worry about shit they put in the sky?
Do you think the tips will make up for the hell?
Do you care about your workplace's inhuman smell?
Do you care if it's only ever gonna be monkey pie?
Do you care about rumors in blurbs?
Do you care about kids spraypainting swans blue in suburbs?
Do you care that Jeff Koons will do a Mastercard commercial soon?
Do you look down on young girls who get tattoos of runes
even as you long to fuck them
and then lecture them on joy division tunes?
Do you worry about who will watch you die?
Do you worry about the giant squid's foiled aspirations?
Do you worry about shit they put in the sky?
Do you think the tips will make up for the hell?
Do you care about your workplace's inhuman smell?
Do you care if it's only ever gonna be monkey pie?
Do you care about rumors in blurbs?
Do you care about kids spraypainting swans blue in suburbs?
Do you care that Jeff Koons will do a Mastercard commercial soon?
Do you look down on young girls who get tattoos of runes
even as you long to fuck them
and then lecture them on joy division tunes?
The Red Cardinal's Ad Campaign
The red cardinal is coming!
Winter is on its queer way.
The red cardinal's trying to synch
up your anticipation of its apparition
with that first dusting of fairy snow.
The one that will make it truly glow!
The red cardinal will thrum and thrutter
with digicam-worthy zealotry
in a small naked tree
near your kitchen or backdoor window.
It will shakes its wings
as if its entire body has sneezed,
explode with snow confetti
and be vivid as blood against the void!
It promises to be "a heart attack of pure poetry."
The red cardinal does, however,
have a few caveats before the show.
The red cardinal wants you to know
that slatey junco is a whore.
And the red cardinal must confide that those grackles
are about as disgusting in the opinions they hold of you
as that creepy wheeze they make.
The red cardinal feels obligated to add
your beloved pine siskin is actually "a winged little snake."
The red cardinal would like you to know
that even rats leave out "pity food"
for sparrows. So if you feed sparrows
you might as well sharpen your front teeth
and live on a steakbone's marrow,
build your house on a garbage barrow.
The red cardinal says it's clearly
the house finch who shits on your Hyundai.
The red cardinal says that grosbeaks
make implausible parents;
its wholly transparent
half the children they raise are gay.
The red cardinal says chickadees
care only for sunflower seeds and praise
and the indiscriminate fuck
of which they mostly partake
on statues of Mary or other divinities
you may keep in your yard,
and they're very contentious
and find your BMW pretentious.
The red cardinal can't wait
to give you the poem you want,
when you see it tilt, tilting its tail,
the brightness in its cocked eye
an acknowledgment of your gleeful stare.
It promises never to eat your dead cat
(the one that got hit by the UPS guy)
like the horrible family of crows
(who were already so fat!)
and it really hates itself
for telling you that.
The red cardinal thinks you just ought to know
those cowbirds are promiscuous,
your beloved bluejay is a thug,
the starling you smile upon's a terrible gossip,
and oh, the goldfinch has hair plugs.
Of course, everbody and their cleaning lady
knows Ms. Towhee spends her evenings
in that barberry bush, Lady Scrub.
And Mister Nuthatch hasn't worked in years.
Even his wife says he's a total schlub.
The red cardinal prays nightly
that bevy of mourning doves
will acknowledge the obvious problem
of their perilous weight
before it's too late.
The red cardinal is filled with love
and cannot wait
for you to take its picture
in a poem, a photo or the admiration of your soul.
Winter is on its queer way.
The red cardinal's trying to synch
up your anticipation of its apparition
with that first dusting of fairy snow.
The one that will make it truly glow!
The red cardinal will thrum and thrutter
with digicam-worthy zealotry
in a small naked tree
near your kitchen or backdoor window.
It will shakes its wings
as if its entire body has sneezed,
explode with snow confetti
and be vivid as blood against the void!
It promises to be "a heart attack of pure poetry."
The red cardinal does, however,
have a few caveats before the show.
The red cardinal wants you to know
that slatey junco is a whore.
And the red cardinal must confide that those grackles
are about as disgusting in the opinions they hold of you
as that creepy wheeze they make.
The red cardinal feels obligated to add
your beloved pine siskin is actually "a winged little snake."
The red cardinal would like you to know
that even rats leave out "pity food"
for sparrows. So if you feed sparrows
you might as well sharpen your front teeth
and live on a steakbone's marrow,
build your house on a garbage barrow.
The red cardinal says it's clearly
the house finch who shits on your Hyundai.
The red cardinal says that grosbeaks
make implausible parents;
its wholly transparent
half the children they raise are gay.
The red cardinal says chickadees
care only for sunflower seeds and praise
and the indiscriminate fuck
of which they mostly partake
on statues of Mary or other divinities
you may keep in your yard,
and they're very contentious
and find your BMW pretentious.
The red cardinal can't wait
to give you the poem you want,
when you see it tilt, tilting its tail,
the brightness in its cocked eye
an acknowledgment of your gleeful stare.
It promises never to eat your dead cat
(the one that got hit by the UPS guy)
like the horrible family of crows
(who were already so fat!)
and it really hates itself
for telling you that.
The red cardinal thinks you just ought to know
those cowbirds are promiscuous,
your beloved bluejay is a thug,
the starling you smile upon's a terrible gossip,
and oh, the goldfinch has hair plugs.
Of course, everbody and their cleaning lady
knows Ms. Towhee spends her evenings
in that barberry bush, Lady Scrub.
And Mister Nuthatch hasn't worked in years.
Even his wife says he's a total schlub.
The red cardinal prays nightly
that bevy of mourning doves
will acknowledge the obvious problem
of their perilous weight
before it's too late.
The red cardinal is filled with love
and cannot wait
for you to take its picture
in a poem, a photo or the admiration of your soul.
I Have Absolutely No Idea What You Are Talking About
I have no idea what you're talking about.
I find myself feeling neither susceptible nor doubtful
as I enter your poem with the wariness of your typical IKEA shopper.
It's like this: if there were a crowbar in this store
it would be a Scandinavian crowbar,
hence suspect. It's not like Abba or Prozac,
something we can just accept on faith.
I'm sorry. I'm just not following you.
Is there a way you could signify what it is
you feel the poem should be saying to me
using only your hands or maybe the "rape reenactment doll"?
Maybe if you reconfigured food on this table
without going overboard like a theorist,
without quoting Wittgenstein or Napoleon Dynamite?
Does that bagel signify your intention in any way?
Could those extra ketchup and Horsey Sauce packets
critique whatever it is you are critiquing?
Are you trying to jump over something?
Am I standing in your way? Should I move
slightly to the left or right?
Is this like trying to urinate
in the presence of medical strangers...
is that what this poem feels like to you
trapped inside its body?
Perhaps if you used insidious camouflage
or said something like:
Readers offer zero panda paw knee. So I'm drinking.
Do you think that might help?
What if I faced a blank wall or held my breath
for the duration of the poem?
Would a retinal afterimage or hypoxia help?
When will you agree we can pull the plug?
The best poems are all already in heaven
where they sleep and Twitter all day long.
Don't be hating on them.
Would you like a receipt that I read it?
That should count for something,
like some nice sun tea after pity sex.
I also have this sigh I can make.
It's like a parking validation.
But decide now if you want it.
Don't come back later and say you've changed your mind.
I hate it when it starts getting all "mami papi."
See, once I fluff this pillow
consider the exchange terminated.
Could you please move your poem's ass?
It's covering my remote control.
Thanks. You great big sexy poem.
Now let momma watch her stories.
I think I already got yours.
I find myself feeling neither susceptible nor doubtful
as I enter your poem with the wariness of your typical IKEA shopper.
It's like this: if there were a crowbar in this store
it would be a Scandinavian crowbar,
hence suspect. It's not like Abba or Prozac,
something we can just accept on faith.
I'm sorry. I'm just not following you.
Is there a way you could signify what it is
you feel the poem should be saying to me
using only your hands or maybe the "rape reenactment doll"?
Maybe if you reconfigured food on this table
without going overboard like a theorist,
without quoting Wittgenstein or Napoleon Dynamite?
Does that bagel signify your intention in any way?
Could those extra ketchup and Horsey Sauce packets
critique whatever it is you are critiquing?
Are you trying to jump over something?
Am I standing in your way? Should I move
slightly to the left or right?
Is this like trying to urinate
in the presence of medical strangers...
is that what this poem feels like to you
trapped inside its body?
Perhaps if you used insidious camouflage
or said something like:
Readers offer zero panda paw knee. So I'm drinking.
Do you think that might help?
What if I faced a blank wall or held my breath
for the duration of the poem?
Would a retinal afterimage or hypoxia help?
When will you agree we can pull the plug?
The best poems are all already in heaven
where they sleep and Twitter all day long.
Don't be hating on them.
Would you like a receipt that I read it?
That should count for something,
like some nice sun tea after pity sex.
I also have this sigh I can make.
It's like a parking validation.
But decide now if you want it.
Don't come back later and say you've changed your mind.
I hate it when it starts getting all "mami papi."
See, once I fluff this pillow
consider the exchange terminated.
Could you please move your poem's ass?
It's covering my remote control.
Thanks. You great big sexy poem.
Now let momma watch her stories.
I think I already got yours.
On a Platform
He thinks about the people compelled.
Now he is charging someone or something.
He is getting cached.
There is a dubious Googling.
He waits several years.
The Fates eat Tastykakes
or do something equally disquieting.
He is blameful.
He is ironically spiritual.
He watches clouds drift. Ironically.
He is supersaturated with greetings.
Society does this. Renders you a bell.
Sleep is like a retarded train
from which nobody (no superhero even)
can retrieve that unplayed Stradivarius
which is attractively burning up or down.
(Ask your therapist which preposition applies.)
He stops lamenting this.
He finds "mere thinking" too easy.
He gives gnomes his false eyelashes.
He coddles fleas, puts apples in a hospital window.
Knowing that buying a novel
is not the same as buying intentions
grieves him one Thursday.
He teleports when work requires it.
He watches his soul grammatically derail
while explaining the train to a doctor.
The doctor is allowed only five questions.
This limit makes the patient feel
like a millefiori glass paperweight,
something floral and preposterous.
A paperweight always looks a little bitter,
doesn't it? Spiteful. Be honest.
Especially when it is placed upon a novel.
The patient finds himself sitting on a novel
written by a Russian saint who was largely
an unfeeling turnip of a human being.
He holds his knees to his chest,
becomes a strain of thrift that is not beauty.
He looks fourteen, but fourteen in marble.
When self-pity goes past, it's like a cloud
too slow to create a noticeable Doppler shift.
Now he is charging someone or something.
He is getting cached.
There is a dubious Googling.
He waits several years.
The Fates eat Tastykakes
or do something equally disquieting.
He is blameful.
He is ironically spiritual.
He watches clouds drift. Ironically.
He is supersaturated with greetings.
Society does this. Renders you a bell.
Sleep is like a retarded train
from which nobody (no superhero even)
can retrieve that unplayed Stradivarius
which is attractively burning up or down.
(Ask your therapist which preposition applies.)
He stops lamenting this.
He finds "mere thinking" too easy.
He gives gnomes his false eyelashes.
He coddles fleas, puts apples in a hospital window.
Knowing that buying a novel
is not the same as buying intentions
grieves him one Thursday.
He teleports when work requires it.
He watches his soul grammatically derail
while explaining the train to a doctor.
The doctor is allowed only five questions.
This limit makes the patient feel
like a millefiori glass paperweight,
something floral and preposterous.
A paperweight always looks a little bitter,
doesn't it? Spiteful. Be honest.
Especially when it is placed upon a novel.
The patient finds himself sitting on a novel
written by a Russian saint who was largely
an unfeeling turnip of a human being.
He holds his knees to his chest,
becomes a strain of thrift that is not beauty.
He looks fourteen, but fourteen in marble.
When self-pity goes past, it's like a cloud
too slow to create a noticeable Doppler shift.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
"Girl Talk" (Francesco Muzzi)
This courtesy of amazing search engine Dusan Lazic (Twitter Buddy).
Thanks, Dusan.
Love it.
Old Painting
Phobos (god of fear) is visiting his Aunt Enyo (goddess of war) and sits upon her left knee in this painting.
She has fed him some sort of ancient world crumpet and he is drinking tea with honey.
Perhaps he has a mild sort throat.
She has fed him some sort of ancient world crumpet and he is drinking tea with honey.
Perhaps he has a mild sort throat.
"She Looks Like She Washes with Comet. " Girl Fight Songs Are Funny!
because usually they are so tame...they're not scary Axl Rose-type lyrics but just great bitchiness.
I was trying to think of girl fight songs after hearing a Blondie oldie yesterday on SIRIUS, but could only remember one or two others.
I'm sure Google could remedy that. Surely many somebodys have lists online.
Best lines? "Well she likes to be in-tell-ect-u-al, and to be a musician she goes to school..."
Then this one sort of panders to the guys who get turned on by gals wrasslin about and all that..
Less bitchiness. More thighs.
Lee said there are a million of these songs, but the first one that came to mind is Kaci Battaglia's recent monster hit.
What obvious songs am I missing here?
I was trying to think of girl fight songs after hearing a Blondie oldie yesterday on SIRIUS, but could only remember one or two others.
I'm sure Google could remedy that. Surely many somebodys have lists online.
Best lines? "Well she likes to be in-tell-ect-u-al, and to be a musician she goes to school..."
Then this one sort of panders to the guys who get turned on by gals wrasslin about and all that..
Less bitchiness. More thighs.
Lee said there are a million of these songs, but the first one that came to mind is Kaci Battaglia's recent monster hit.
What obvious songs am I missing here?
I Think It's Tragic that the Question "Is my cat in heaven?" Only Brought Up Three Citations
#
Rick's Green Grass: Is My Cat in Heaven?
Is My Cat in Heaven? Of all the great theological questions facing Episcopalians and the Anglican Communion, the question of pets in heaven probably is not ...
ricksgreengrass.blogspot.com/2009/07/is-my-cat-in-heaven.html - Cached -
#
Rick's Green Grass: Homosexuality Not a Factor in Abusive Priests
Nov 18, 2009 ... Communion Your Way · Is My Cat in Heaven? June 22 - St. Mary Magdalene Day · Huge New Blot on Jupiter! Great Day for a White Wedding ...
ricksgreengrass.blogspot.com/.../homosexuality-not-factor-in-abusive.html - Cached -
Show more results from ricksgreengrass.blogspot.com
#
is my cat in heaven in The AnswerBank: Society & Culture: Religion ...
i recently had my cat put to sleep and i am really upset. i hope hes gone to cat heaven, i thought he may send me a sign but so far i havent had one. please ...
www.theanswerbank.co.uk/Society-and-Culture/.../Question732142.html -
I Think This Twitter Probably Represents the "True Artist" Best...
Twitter / Amy Linden: i feel compelled to say so ...
i feel compelled to say something profound or let people into my inner thoughts...too much pressure! thank god Real Housewives tonight!
twitter.com/notfornothin59/status/3286461790 - Cached -
i feel compelled to say something profound or let people into my inner thoughts...too much pressure! thank god Real Housewives tonight!
twitter.com/notfornothin59/status/3286461790 - Cached -
I Wondered What God Worries About. Google Knew.
Results 1 - 10 of about 24,600 for "God worries about". (0.37 seconds)
Search Results
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1.
St. Luke's Episcopal Church : Worrying With God
He says this is what God worries about when God gets up in the morning. God worries about a world where not everyone has what they need. God worries about a ...
www.stlukesbethesda.org/article.php?id=42 - Cached -
2.
Is disbelief the only sin that god really worries about since it's ...
Apr 3, 2009 ... No, disbelief (rejection/blasphemy of the Holy Ghost) is not the only sin God worries about, it's just the only sin that God will not ...
answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid... - Cached -
3.
The Worry God
Apr 21, 2002 ... And being a personal God, of course, the Worry God worries about all of our own individual personal worries. We cannot possibly have any ...
www.tomveatch.com/worrygod.html - Cached - Similar -
4. [PDF]
Exodus 17:8-13 Psalm 121:1-2, 3-4, 5-6, 7-8
File Format: PDF/Adobe Acrobat - Quick View
Jesus tells the Faithful that God worries about being slapped around (from the. Greek)1 by persistent prayer, even more than the unjust judge worries about ...
www.western-civilization.com/.../147C%2029th%20Sunday%20in%20Ordinary%20Time_... - Similar -
5.
No Worries – Part 1 | Brian's Blog
How often do you think God worries about things? It's really easy to worry when you are listening to all those who are worriers, on the reverse, ...
brian.therakes.net/?p=41 - Cached -
6. [PDF]
Treasury of the Heart
File Format: PDF/Adobe Acrobat - Quick View
And now finally, worry about the things God worries about. ... Worry about what God worries about, and the way God worries about it is to give it away. ...
www.stpaulandstandrew.org/sermons/Treasury_of_the_Heart.pdf -
7. [DOC]
Seeking God
File Format: Microsoft Word - View as HTML
God worries about the suffering of God's people. God worries about the hungry being fed and the poor receiving adequate housing, education, health care. ...
dcommon.bu.edu/xmlui/bitstream/handle/2144/.../Seeking%20God.doc?...1 -
8.
Where Is God When It Hurts? - Google Books Result
by Philip Yancey - 1997 - Religion - 304 pages
"God worries about your future"; that's what he said, and 1 tell you, my husband near exploded. He shouted about ten times to the reverend, "Future, future, ...
books.google.com/books?isbn=0310214378... -
9.
Watts Street Baptist Church - Hungering and Thirsting for Justice
Jul 20, 2009 ... We worry about the things God worries about—namely, the suffering of God's people Jesus describes this “worry” as hunger and thirst. ...
www.wattsstreet.org › News › Sermons - Cached -
10.
Salon.com Mobile - God, He's moody
Jun 24, 2009 ... The Biblical god worries about the fate of his "chosen people", what they eat, the virginity status of brides, how he is worshipped. ...
letters.mobile.salon.com/env/atoms_eden/2009/.../index7.html - Cached -
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1.
St. Luke's Episcopal Church : Worrying With God
He says this is what God worries about when God gets up in the morning. God worries about a world where not everyone has what they need. God worries about a ...
www.stlukesbethesda.org/article.php?id=42 - Cached -
2.
Is disbelief the only sin that god really worries about since it's ...
Apr 3, 2009 ... No, disbelief (rejection/blasphemy of the Holy Ghost) is not the only sin God worries about, it's just the only sin that God will not ...
answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid... - Cached -
3.
The Worry God
Apr 21, 2002 ... And being a personal God, of course, the Worry God worries about all of our own individual personal worries. We cannot possibly have any ...
www.tomveatch.com/worrygod.html - Cached - Similar -
4. [PDF]
Exodus 17:8-13 Psalm 121:1-2, 3-4, 5-6, 7-8
File Format: PDF/Adobe Acrobat - Quick View
Jesus tells the Faithful that God worries about being slapped around (from the. Greek)1 by persistent prayer, even more than the unjust judge worries about ...
www.western-civilization.com/.../147C%2029th%20Sunday%20in%20Ordinary%20Time_... - Similar -
5.
No Worries – Part 1 | Brian's Blog
How often do you think God worries about things? It's really easy to worry when you are listening to all those who are worriers, on the reverse, ...
brian.therakes.net/?p=41 - Cached -
6. [PDF]
Treasury of the Heart
File Format: PDF/Adobe Acrobat - Quick View
And now finally, worry about the things God worries about. ... Worry about what God worries about, and the way God worries about it is to give it away. ...
www.stpaulandstandrew.org/sermons/Treasury_of_the_Heart.pdf -
7. [DOC]
Seeking God
File Format: Microsoft Word - View as HTML
God worries about the suffering of God's people. God worries about the hungry being fed and the poor receiving adequate housing, education, health care. ...
dcommon.bu.edu/xmlui/bitstream/handle/2144/.../Seeking%20God.doc?...1 -
8.
Where Is God When It Hurts? - Google Books Result
by Philip Yancey - 1997 - Religion - 304 pages
"God worries about your future"; that's what he said, and 1 tell you, my husband near exploded. He shouted about ten times to the reverend, "Future, future, ...
books.google.com/books?isbn=0310214378... -
9.
Watts Street Baptist Church - Hungering and Thirsting for Justice
Jul 20, 2009 ... We worry about the things God worries about—namely, the suffering of God's people Jesus describes this “worry” as hunger and thirst. ...
www.wattsstreet.org › News › Sermons - Cached -
10.
Salon.com Mobile - God, He's moody
Jun 24, 2009 ... The Biblical god worries about the fate of his "chosen people", what they eat, the virginity status of brides, how he is worshipped. ...
letters.mobile.salon.com/env/atoms_eden/2009/.../index7.html - Cached -
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I Googled "I Want to Die Because..."
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I want to die because my husband doubts on me each day and says to ...
Sep 30, 2009 ... i am 25 years old ours is love marraige before marriage my ... You are in danger with this man.Does your husband hit you? ...
in.answers.yahoo.com › ... › Marriage & Divorce - Cached -
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I want to die because of my bank? - Yahoo! Answers
Nov 26, 2009 ... My bank is charging me a bunch of money in overdra…
answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid... - Cached -
Is gaining weight a good reason to want to die? - Nov 27, 2009
I feel like i want to die because? - Oct 25, 2009
I want to die because nobody will help me with my physical ... - Oct 3, 2009
I want to die? - May 23, 2006
More results from answers.yahoo.com »
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Teenage Problems: I Want to Die all the Time Because of my Mom ...
Jun 21, 2009 ... I HATE my mom and it's because of the abuse, I no she emotocanaly abuse's me and I want to die because of it. She yells at me all the time ...
en.allexperts.com › Teenage Problems - Cached - Similar -
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I want to die because of the design project :( | Facebook
Facebook is a social utility that connects people with friends and others who work, study and live around them. People use Facebook to keep up with friends, ...
www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=23519744509 - Cached -
#
:: MarwaRakha :: - IDENTITY - Ask Marwa: I want to die (Virginity ...
Why do I want to die? Because I made a mistake and had sex with my 23 year old fiancée. I am ashamed of myself and my fiancée calls me names, beats me up, ...
www.marwarakha.com/index.php?categoryid=23&p2... - Cached - Similar -
#
WHY DO YOU WANT TO DIE?.. – I hate myself and I want to die ...
I WONT JUDGE I HAVE NO ROOM TO I WANT TO DIE BECAUSE I AM A STUPID WHORE WHO ..... i want to die because im fat and whatever i try to do i cant lose no mre ...
www.last.fm/group/I+hate+myself+and+I.../_/464518 - Cached - Similar -
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talk help: I want to die, is there someone here to talk to ...
18 posts - 5 authors
I want to die because every day i live is really painful. I may sound weak because there are people who probably go through tougher times. ...
help.com/post/198619-i-want-to-die-is-there-someone-her - Cached - Similar -
#
I Want to Die Because I Watched This on Put It In Your Ears
I Want to Die Because I Watched This. View comments · Comments. Add yours. If you like this post, you might also like: Been Had Money · No Episode Today, ...
www.putitinyourears.com/die-watched - Cached -
#
Why I want to die | the suicide project - suicide stories
I want to die because I am a fool. I have nothing called life because I am a fool. Because of my clumsiness no one ever loves me. I have no friends.
suicideproject.org/2009/04/930/ - Cached -
#
I Want to Live Forever « Some More of God's Greatest Mistakes
Jul 16, 2009 ... I never say “I want to die” because I'm seriously considering ending my life and I think the empty room might have some helpful tips on ...
blameful.wordpress.com/2009/07/16/i-want-to-live-forever/ -
I want to die because my husband doubts on me each day and says to ...
Sep 30, 2009 ... i am 25 years old ours is love marraige before marriage my ... You are in danger with this man.Does your husband hit you? ...
in.answers.yahoo.com › ... › Marriage & Divorce - Cached -
#
I want to die because of my bank? - Yahoo! Answers
Nov 26, 2009 ... My bank is charging me a bunch of money in overdra…
answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid... - Cached -
Is gaining weight a good reason to want to die? - Nov 27, 2009
I feel like i want to die because? - Oct 25, 2009
I want to die because nobody will help me with my physical ... - Oct 3, 2009
I want to die? - May 23, 2006
More results from answers.yahoo.com »
#
Teenage Problems: I Want to Die all the Time Because of my Mom ...
Jun 21, 2009 ... I HATE my mom and it's because of the abuse, I no she emotocanaly abuse's me and I want to die because of it. She yells at me all the time ...
en.allexperts.com › Teenage Problems - Cached - Similar -
#
I want to die because of the design project :( | Facebook
Facebook is a social utility that connects people with friends and others who work, study and live around them. People use Facebook to keep up with friends, ...
www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=23519744509 - Cached -
#
:: MarwaRakha :: - IDENTITY - Ask Marwa: I want to die (Virginity ...
Why do I want to die? Because I made a mistake and had sex with my 23 year old fiancée. I am ashamed of myself and my fiancée calls me names, beats me up, ...
www.marwarakha.com/index.php?categoryid=23&p2... - Cached - Similar -
#
WHY DO YOU WANT TO DIE?.. – I hate myself and I want to die ...
I WONT JUDGE I HAVE NO ROOM TO I WANT TO DIE BECAUSE I AM A STUPID WHORE WHO ..... i want to die because im fat and whatever i try to do i cant lose no mre ...
www.last.fm/group/I+hate+myself+and+I.../_/464518 - Cached - Similar -
#
talk help: I want to die, is there someone here to talk to ...
18 posts - 5 authors
I want to die because every day i live is really painful. I may sound weak because there are people who probably go through tougher times. ...
help.com/post/198619-i-want-to-die-is-there-someone-her - Cached - Similar -
#
I Want to Die Because I Watched This on Put It In Your Ears
I Want to Die Because I Watched This. View comments · Comments. Add yours. If you like this post, you might also like: Been Had Money · No Episode Today, ...
www.putitinyourears.com/die-watched - Cached -
#
Why I want to die | the suicide project - suicide stories
I want to die because I am a fool. I have nothing called life because I am a fool. Because of my clumsiness no one ever loves me. I have no friends.
suicideproject.org/2009/04/930/ - Cached -
#
I Want to Live Forever « Some More of God's Greatest Mistakes
Jul 16, 2009 ... I never say “I want to die” because I'm seriously considering ending my life and I think the empty room might have some helpful tips on ...
blameful.wordpress.com/2009/07/16/i-want-to-live-forever/ -
I Was Wondering What Sort of Things People Feel Compelled to Say. Google Answered Me...
#
feel compelled to say something.. - U2 Feedback
21 posts - 19 authors - Last post: Oct 29
This is just a little personal, but I was assaulted and almost raped tonight by a guy who followed me into the lobby of my new building.
u2.interference.com › Blogs › kafrun - Cached -
#
I Enjoy Cursing But Feel Compelled to Give It Up At Some Point ...
Read true personal stories, chat, & get advice from a group of 12 people who all say 'I Enjoy Cursing But Feel Compelled to Give It Up At Some Point' ...
www.experienceproject.com/groups/...Feel-Compelled.../169739 - Cached -
#
Feel Compelled to Answer a Ringing Phone | Group with Personal ...
Read true personal stories, chat, & get advice from a group of 3 people who all say 'I Feel Compelled to Answer a Ringing Phone' ...
www.experienceproject.com/.../Feel-Compelled-To.../84762 - Cached - Similar -
#
Twitter / Amy Linden: i feel compelled to say so ...
i feel compelled to say something profound or let people into my inner thoughts...too much pressure! thank god Real Housewives tonight!
twitter.com/notfornothin59/status/3286461790 - Cached -
#
Don't feel compelled to stay in bad job - The Milwaukee Journal ...
Many residents would prefer to stay part of unincorporated Arapahoe County, but say they feel compelled to choose between annexation and incorporation. ...
www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1P2-6220995.html - Cached -
#
compel - definition of compel by the Free Online Dictionary ...
Definition of compel in the Online Dictionary. Meaning of compel. Pronunciation of compel. ... I feel compelled to say that → me veo obligado a decir que . ...
www.thefreedictionary.com/compel - Cached - Similar -
#
Things that I feel compelled to say - How funny ...
This page provides information about 'Things that I feel compelled to say - How funny.....' on Broken Controllers.
brokencontrollers.com/things-that-i-feel-compelled-to-say-how-funny-t5366244.php - Cached -
#
In Veritate Ambulare: Things I Feel Compelled to Say Because I'm ...
Things I Feel Compelled to Say Because I'm Pre-law. For purposes of this blurb, the people who post to this blog will be referred to as ...
brpmilesblog.blogspot.com/.../things-i-feel-compelled-to-say-because_03.html - Cached -
#
I Feel Compelled To Say This - Kellie Pickler Fans
Keeper of Kellie's Friendship with Katharine McPhee. geekilicious is offline. Join Date: Feb 2006. Location: Charlotte, NC. I Feel Compelled To Say This ...
www.kelliefans.com/showthread.php?t=29956 - Cached -
#
I feel compelled to say this.. [Archive] - Mac Forums
[Archive] I feel compelled to say this.. Buying Tips, Advice and Discussion (archive)
forums.macrumors.com/archive/index.php/index.../t-117438.html - Cached -
feel compelled to say something.. - U2 Feedback
21 posts - 19 authors - Last post: Oct 29
This is just a little personal, but I was assaulted and almost raped tonight by a guy who followed me into the lobby of my new building.
u2.interference.com › Blogs › kafrun - Cached -
#
I Enjoy Cursing But Feel Compelled to Give It Up At Some Point ...
Read true personal stories, chat, & get advice from a group of 12 people who all say 'I Enjoy Cursing But Feel Compelled to Give It Up At Some Point' ...
www.experienceproject.com/groups/...Feel-Compelled.../169739 - Cached -
#
Feel Compelled to Answer a Ringing Phone | Group with Personal ...
Read true personal stories, chat, & get advice from a group of 3 people who all say 'I Feel Compelled to Answer a Ringing Phone' ...
www.experienceproject.com/.../Feel-Compelled-To.../84762 - Cached - Similar -
#
Twitter / Amy Linden: i feel compelled to say so ...
i feel compelled to say something profound or let people into my inner thoughts...too much pressure! thank god Real Housewives tonight!
twitter.com/notfornothin59/status/3286461790 - Cached -
#
Don't feel compelled to stay in bad job - The Milwaukee Journal ...
Many residents would prefer to stay part of unincorporated Arapahoe County, but say they feel compelled to choose between annexation and incorporation. ...
www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1P2-6220995.html - Cached -
#
compel - definition of compel by the Free Online Dictionary ...
Definition of compel in the Online Dictionary. Meaning of compel. Pronunciation of compel. ... I feel compelled to say that → me veo obligado a decir que . ...
www.thefreedictionary.com/compel - Cached - Similar -
#
Things that I feel compelled to say - How funny ...
This page provides information about 'Things that I feel compelled to say - How funny.....' on Broken Controllers.
brokencontrollers.com/things-that-i-feel-compelled-to-say-how-funny-t5366244.php - Cached -
#
In Veritate Ambulare: Things I Feel Compelled to Say Because I'm ...
Things I Feel Compelled to Say Because I'm Pre-law. For purposes of this blurb, the people who post to this blog will be referred to as ...
brpmilesblog.blogspot.com/.../things-i-feel-compelled-to-say-because_03.html - Cached -
#
I Feel Compelled To Say This - Kellie Pickler Fans
Keeper of Kellie's Friendship with Katharine McPhee. geekilicious is offline. Join Date: Feb 2006. Location: Charlotte, NC. I Feel Compelled To Say This ...
www.kelliefans.com/showthread.php?t=29956 - Cached -
#
I feel compelled to say this.. [Archive] - Mac Forums
[Archive] I feel compelled to say this.. Buying Tips, Advice and Discussion (archive)
forums.macrumors.com/archive/index.php/index.../t-117438.html - Cached -
Hello, Craig Conley
I just felt like using this time to say Hello to Craig Conley.
I thought of several different ways of saying it.
I'm not sure they are very imaginative.
Hello, Craig Conley!
Hey bud!
Sup?
Dude! Where ya been?
Salutations and all that jive.
Is that a monkey powering your Haitian rum-wheel, or are you just glad to see me?
Nothing ventured, nothing pained.
How much for the albino crocodile?
Does your Mother know?
Why did you do that thing to the pumpkin pie?
Hi.
(to third party watching) Do you really think your presence in this elevator is warranted...or even legal?
I left the kickback in the usual place.
Why did those Mormons go in your front door and never come back out?
The thought process says MOOOOOO!
I kick it and something like it goes back in the closet.
Is this working for you?
Oh, I'm sorry. I was actually talking to myself there.
I think the PEANUTS characters might actually outlast Beethoven.
Pathetic.
What did you mean by "the cat drinking milk part is iffy?"
"Don't Pay the Ferryman" is not a good song.
Why do you think Bryan Ferry sways so much?
You could write a book about things that sway.
You would call the book Things that Sway.
Or possibly SWAYBACK.
This would have Beckettian overtones.
Or maybe go a tad Seussian: I Feel Swayed to Say...
Make it a book about people in transition, between thoughts.
People saying things they would like to think, but hesitate to do.
The Tra La universe.
I live there.
A universe of vacillating people, vacillating thoughts, is exciting!
I would buy the book.
But I would buy it on ABE.
Being poor in America is now officially a vocation.
Or is it a calling?
Spiritual overtones add color.
Sup?
I think it's funny that there's an ap called GREASEMONKEY.
When you watch Grease, do you find yourself craving more hunger?
I know I do.
Urban Cowboy similarly leads to an urge for reincarnation.
Debra Winger, please say Hello to Craig.
We know you're not busy.
Hello Craig!
Is it okay this is not a poem?
Is it okay if it is?
I don't think many serial killers said "okey-doke" or "okey-dokey."
This might be a good "anti-serial killer" test.
The "okey-dokey" test.
I can't imagine Hannibal Lecter saying "okey-doke."
But he's imaginary.
Okay, yes I can.
If he said it ironically.
I am saying Hello to you.
But not really ironically.
Some people exist only as ironic particles.
It could be that the "quantum secret" to the universe is actually irony.
I mean if you talk about Heisenberg or Schrodinger.
But we can only talk about our universe, the way we can only talk about our house.
But we talk about the neighbors anyway.
That is the shoddier form of physics practiced by most Americans. Some doctors too.
You get my drift.
You get my draftiness.
Hello, says the Haunted House.
They usually do.
I thought of several different ways of saying it.
I'm not sure they are very imaginative.
Hello, Craig Conley!
Hey bud!
Sup?
Dude! Where ya been?
Salutations and all that jive.
Is that a monkey powering your Haitian rum-wheel, or are you just glad to see me?
Nothing ventured, nothing pained.
How much for the albino crocodile?
Does your Mother know?
Why did you do that thing to the pumpkin pie?
Hi.
(to third party watching) Do you really think your presence in this elevator is warranted...or even legal?
I left the kickback in the usual place.
Why did those Mormons go in your front door and never come back out?
The thought process says MOOOOOO!
I kick it and something like it goes back in the closet.
Is this working for you?
Oh, I'm sorry. I was actually talking to myself there.
I think the PEANUTS characters might actually outlast Beethoven.
Pathetic.
What did you mean by "the cat drinking milk part is iffy?"
"Don't Pay the Ferryman" is not a good song.
Why do you think Bryan Ferry sways so much?
You could write a book about things that sway.
You would call the book Things that Sway.
Or possibly SWAYBACK.
This would have Beckettian overtones.
Or maybe go a tad Seussian: I Feel Swayed to Say...
Make it a book about people in transition, between thoughts.
People saying things they would like to think, but hesitate to do.
The Tra La universe.
I live there.
A universe of vacillating people, vacillating thoughts, is exciting!
I would buy the book.
But I would buy it on ABE.
Being poor in America is now officially a vocation.
Or is it a calling?
Spiritual overtones add color.
Sup?
I think it's funny that there's an ap called GREASEMONKEY.
When you watch Grease, do you find yourself craving more hunger?
I know I do.
Urban Cowboy similarly leads to an urge for reincarnation.
Debra Winger, please say Hello to Craig.
We know you're not busy.
Hello Craig!
Is it okay this is not a poem?
Is it okay if it is?
I don't think many serial killers said "okey-doke" or "okey-dokey."
This might be a good "anti-serial killer" test.
The "okey-dokey" test.
I can't imagine Hannibal Lecter saying "okey-doke."
But he's imaginary.
Okay, yes I can.
If he said it ironically.
I am saying Hello to you.
But not really ironically.
Some people exist only as ironic particles.
It could be that the "quantum secret" to the universe is actually irony.
I mean if you talk about Heisenberg or Schrodinger.
But we can only talk about our universe, the way we can only talk about our house.
But we talk about the neighbors anyway.
That is the shoddier form of physics practiced by most Americans. Some doctors too.
You get my drift.
You get my draftiness.
Hello, says the Haunted House.
They usually do.
The Society
This conversation with myself has been brought to you by the Society for Self-Reflexive Bards (S.S.R.B.).
Our motto is: "We mean to be ourselves. Seriously."
Our motto is: "We mean to be ourselves. Seriously."
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Short Poems
what nature blamed today
my hand.
a cemetery where we can walk
Marble daughters...
When rains loves rain it grows...
in an old cemetery
Love, be for me their green eyelashes
the snowman
It gets away from mind,
but doesn't escape the children
the new physics
Art the universe's life is to understand life.
And realize all is found art.
for the ones in the papers
Who doesn't?
end there?
in death's clumsy bed, clumsily.
ancient greek tomb of child
"I stopped the world"
the little stone said
and we stood there,
jeff koons: the movie
I buy from a Bunny who is Wanted for Being the artist.
new jersey
Only pass by your
Carlos Williams if winter's in your Sonnet
place.
Nobody Dies painting the soul's soul?
You repeat variations;
you deviously bite your recent predicament.
chinese porn, mistranslated
No. have certainly farmer boy creature
milling say it may become
less human
give her
Grammar nature all she loves
because to go out, a heavy letter, Dear Rachel....
stones from the sea
posing as eggs
charm me
ants find sugar
And the Wittgensteinian copy.
down south
you can go to jail for "reading pussy"
did you say something?
As moons ago
brain the thee engram
an engram the prune.
steinian oven
She really modeled his own bird book
on one sent her reading ripping these American
birds to death. Army stores on both sides of it,
the French birds....
the grass grows
Or soliciting poets.
mass a chew sets
Keeping up Lucifer do.
unwombs the animal here.
they say each Fall.
flea
can put it in cake.
A flea.
Call it a marriage.
This brute
I couldn't answer
altered deck
Lovely eyelet to it
chance
my hand.
a cemetery where we can walk
Marble daughters...
When rains loves rain it grows...
in an old cemetery
Love, be for me their green eyelashes
the snowman
It gets away from mind,
but doesn't escape the children
the new physics
Art the universe's life is to understand life.
And realize all is found art.
for the ones in the papers
Who doesn't?
end there?
in death's clumsy bed, clumsily.
ancient greek tomb of child
"I stopped the world"
the little stone said
and we stood there,
jeff koons: the movie
I buy from a Bunny who is Wanted for Being the artist.
new jersey
Only pass by your
Carlos Williams if winter's in your Sonnet
place.
Nobody Dies painting the soul's soul?
You repeat variations;
you deviously bite your recent predicament.
chinese porn, mistranslated
No. have certainly farmer boy creature
milling say it may become
less human
give her
Grammar nature all she loves
because to go out, a heavy letter, Dear Rachel....
stones from the sea
posing as eggs
charm me
ants find sugar
And the Wittgensteinian copy.
down south
you can go to jail for "reading pussy"
did you say something?
As moons ago
brain the thee engram
an engram the prune.
steinian oven
She really modeled his own bird book
on one sent her reading ripping these American
birds to death. Army stores on both sides of it,
the French birds....
the grass grows
Or soliciting poets.
mass a chew sets
Keeping up Lucifer do.
unwombs the animal here.
they say each Fall.
flea
can put it in cake.
A flea.
Call it a marriage.
This brute
I couldn't answer
altered deck
Lovely eyelet to it
chance
I Know You...
I know you fear someone will give you
a pet unicorn one day, and that it will starve to death
under your shoddy and nervous care.
Or that this unicorn will grow up retarded
under tutelage of your home schooling.
I know you envy the Great White Shark
and William Carlos Williams equally.
Who doesn't?
I know you found one of winter's pubic hairs
this afternoon, and stuck it in your pocket
while nobody was looking
like a little porn princess after the job.
I know you by the delicacy of such DILFish gestures.
a pet unicorn one day, and that it will starve to death
under your shoddy and nervous care.
Or that this unicorn will grow up retarded
under tutelage of your home schooling.
I know you envy the Great White Shark
and William Carlos Williams equally.
Who doesn't?
I know you found one of winter's pubic hairs
this afternoon, and stuck it in your pocket
while nobody was looking
like a little porn princess after the job.
I know you by the delicacy of such DILFish gestures.
Epithalamium Sonnet
Nobody Hold my hand.
Nobody Take my place.
Nobody Die for me today.
Nobody Leave me to myself.
Nobody Please nothing please.
Nobody Stop playing the piano
in that beautifully threatening amateurish way.
Nobody Show up when I can't need you.
Nobody Don't tell me when you die.
Nobody Linger in death's play.
Nobody I can't not love you.
Nobody stop staring that way.
Nobody Sleep us through death's clumsy mountain dubiously.
Nobody Share my dubious natural bed, clumsily.
how did you get in here?
it's as though hieronymius bosch
one winter day
looked at his painting of Hell
and noticed a fly
out of place
Nobody Take my place.
Nobody Die for me today.
Nobody Leave me to myself.
Nobody Please nothing please.
Nobody Stop playing the piano
in that beautifully threatening amateurish way.
Nobody Show up when I can't need you.
Nobody Don't tell me when you die.
Nobody Linger in death's play.
Nobody I can't not love you.
Nobody stop staring that way.
Nobody Sleep us through death's clumsy mountain dubiously.
Nobody Share my dubious natural bed, clumsily.
how did you get in here?
it's as though hieronymius bosch
one winter day
looked at his painting of Hell
and noticed a fly
out of place
poemses
free psychic reading...
You are a creature of regrets.
This much I see as clearly
as the veruca on your soul's toe.
Or did I mean your toe's soul?
You repeat your mistakes
with only the slightest musical variations;
you deviously mislead the oboists each time
into that fatal mistake
that symphonic Black Hole of Calcutta.
Your several hearts mysteriously
debouche dreams each morning
into a too sensible cereal bowl,
and you fear this should be
an illustration included
in a medical texbook.
(You pray they will discreetly
block out your face.)
You are beguiled most by those
you would most beguile.
All of this is most puerile, natural
and pathetic: stalactites-
and-stalagmites type stuff.
It's the literary equivalent
of popping zits. You say
necessitas like a douche.
Lovers have observed you are a snowstorm
that suddenly forgets what it is doing
in the middle of Lake Erie.
You are an unplayed Stradivarius,
but also an unstraying platypus.
You have a medical oddity
you fear one day will kill you,
but actually it will be the peaches.
Too much information?
When you watch Dracula turn the mirrors
to the wall, you feel jealous
and horny. In a previous life,
you were a sparrow who died
in a blizzard's guessing game.
But probably that last bit was a big "Duh" for you.
why dis you use the word "confinement" about your recent predicament?
No. I didn't have Rodin's baby.
That could have certainly complicated things though.
A French sculptress in the 19th century
cannot afford to be a mistress
and have "no baby" too.
camille claudel sitting in a lunatic asylum for thirty years thinking...
Marble is fucking expensive.
a farmer had three daughters...
When rains are on thee
http://www.xixinhg.com/culbertson.html
love grows...
Love grows as a leaf does,
slowly as eyes in the womb
that later may be swift
in an animal's skull.
Possibly even deadly.
Hunter or guard.
Angel or psycho.
Fucked up
or fucking up others.
The body may tattoo
itself for easy identification.
But even the tattoos may be a ruse.
Animals and other things
beyond control
will shape that eye.
Wings may sprout
in either circumstance.
oh the tattoos...
dead lamby boy naked on the autopsy table
the poem...
is a sort
of concentration camp
all its own
some elements
of the imprisoned set
are set aside
to play music
for the rest
as they are shunted
right or left
left or right
crow in snowfield...
a creature
milling the distinctions
they say if you sing...
between light and hunger
you may become
less human
more useful
(untitled)...
Keeping up with the brightness
is what poets and Lucifer do.
you're so hot...
no flies come
this time of year
to bless the green apple
by posing on it
as death's funny
fake eyelashes
can you accept it?...
the egg of a flea
can pose as a poppy seed
you might put it on your tongue
enjoy it with lemon cake
What if the Final Judgment
(sounds like a bad schwarzenegger movie!)
is to be no more efficient than that?
still life...
A rainy day buffers the hospital.
Does the fog feel the building
it coddles as a sort of egg?
A Salon des Refuses sort of day.
Is it a Sunday? A Thursday?
Everybody today wears a Wittgenstein costume
whether they're on a a first name basis
with Ludwig or not. He's infiltrated
our age in a way health has not.
I keep thinking of the two innocent green apples
in the fridge at home,
in their sort of shop window.
Two green apples doing a sort of performance art.
They do look like a gay marriage.
Even the Catholics would admit that.
How luminous they look together!
They don't even have to go out on the street.
loony library there...
The library in that building? mostly children's books
and Susan Sontag. How queer
a game guessing is!
A hospital is a place for guessing games.
Poets live or die by guessing.
Poets live and die by guessing.
Poets live in a sort of hospital
they carry around with them.
They carry bandages for words.
They should wear a white headband
like apollinaire's headwound leaking grammar!
a poem about my grammar...
Grammar lives apart from us
an alienated ancient old dame.
We know she'll never leave us
one whit of her riches
but we hope and dream.
Grammar lives apart from us
and guesses at nature all by herself.
Maybe she has a cat she loves
because the cat doesn't try to fuck
with grammar the way poets do.
Grammar has a few autistic friends
she likes to see occasionally,
like Gertrude Stein
who hunkers down
when she is saying "Sack!
Sack the Quarterback!"
Hunkered down to tea.
You are a creature of regrets.
This much I see as clearly
as the veruca on your soul's toe.
Or did I mean your toe's soul?
You repeat your mistakes
with only the slightest musical variations;
you deviously mislead the oboists each time
into that fatal mistake
that symphonic Black Hole of Calcutta.
Your several hearts mysteriously
debouche dreams each morning
into a too sensible cereal bowl,
and you fear this should be
an illustration included
in a medical texbook.
(You pray they will discreetly
block out your face.)
You are beguiled most by those
you would most beguile.
All of this is most puerile, natural
and pathetic: stalactites-
and-stalagmites type stuff.
It's the literary equivalent
of popping zits. You say
necessitas like a douche.
Lovers have observed you are a snowstorm
that suddenly forgets what it is doing
in the middle of Lake Erie.
You are an unplayed Stradivarius,
but also an unstraying platypus.
You have a medical oddity
you fear one day will kill you,
but actually it will be the peaches.
Too much information?
When you watch Dracula turn the mirrors
to the wall, you feel jealous
and horny. In a previous life,
you were a sparrow who died
in a blizzard's guessing game.
But probably that last bit was a big "Duh" for you.
why dis you use the word "confinement" about your recent predicament?
No. I didn't have Rodin's baby.
That could have certainly complicated things though.
A French sculptress in the 19th century
cannot afford to be a mistress
and have "no baby" too.
camille claudel sitting in a lunatic asylum for thirty years thinking...
Marble is fucking expensive.
a farmer had three daughters...
When rains are on thee
http://www.xixinhg.com/culbertson.html
love grows...
Love grows as a leaf does,
slowly as eyes in the womb
that later may be swift
in an animal's skull.
Possibly even deadly.
Hunter or guard.
Angel or psycho.
Fucked up
or fucking up others.
The body may tattoo
itself for easy identification.
But even the tattoos may be a ruse.
Animals and other things
beyond control
will shape that eye.
Wings may sprout
in either circumstance.
oh the tattoos...
dead lamby boy naked on the autopsy table
the poem...
is a sort
of concentration camp
all its own
some elements
of the imprisoned set
are set aside
to play music
for the rest
as they are shunted
right or left
left or right
crow in snowfield...
a creature
milling the distinctions
they say if you sing...
between light and hunger
you may become
less human
more useful
(untitled)...
Keeping up with the brightness
is what poets and Lucifer do.
you're so hot...
no flies come
this time of year
to bless the green apple
by posing on it
as death's funny
fake eyelashes
can you accept it?...
the egg of a flea
can pose as a poppy seed
you might put it on your tongue
enjoy it with lemon cake
What if the Final Judgment
(sounds like a bad schwarzenegger movie!)
is to be no more efficient than that?
still life...
A rainy day buffers the hospital.
Does the fog feel the building
it coddles as a sort of egg?
A Salon des Refuses sort of day.
Is it a Sunday? A Thursday?
Everybody today wears a Wittgenstein costume
whether they're on a a first name basis
with Ludwig or not. He's infiltrated
our age in a way health has not.
I keep thinking of the two innocent green apples
in the fridge at home,
in their sort of shop window.
Two green apples doing a sort of performance art.
They do look like a gay marriage.
Even the Catholics would admit that.
How luminous they look together!
They don't even have to go out on the street.
loony library there...
The library in that building? mostly children's books
and Susan Sontag. How queer
a game guessing is!
A hospital is a place for guessing games.
Poets live or die by guessing.
Poets live and die by guessing.
Poets live in a sort of hospital
they carry around with them.
They carry bandages for words.
They should wear a white headband
like apollinaire's headwound leaking grammar!
a poem about my grammar...
Grammar lives apart from us
an alienated ancient old dame.
We know she'll never leave us
one whit of her riches
but we hope and dream.
Grammar lives apart from us
and guesses at nature all by herself.
Maybe she has a cat she loves
because the cat doesn't try to fuck
with grammar the way poets do.
Grammar has a few autistic friends
she likes to see occasionally,
like Gertrude Stein
who hunkers down
when she is saying "Sack!
Sack the Quarterback!"
Hunkered down to tea.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Great Things I Have Received Lately, #7
Last but definitely not least...
Thanks for sending me this lovely letter, Rachel.
It made my day.
Hello Kitty brings great magic karma into any house she enters.
Thanks for saying it was okay to post it. I think it's funny because nobody will have any clue what "thread fuckers" in your letter refers to lol. And even if I told them the secret is on this blog, they couldn't search the blog to find the answer (Google/Blogger has deactivated my Johnny Depp glass elevator).
I've been really loving your poetry lately (what's new?).
You probably get tired of hearing me compare you to another poet I love (J.K.) but your poetry does for me what hers does for me.
But it's your own voice. It's just you both share this transcendental quality where the "plainest" objects start to sing in poetry. W.C.W. was another who had that gift, of course.
But you and J.K. both are far East of him, I think. Which is a safer place for American minds to be, probably.
It's a liberating thing.
She and Philip Whalen are my two favorite Beats. The others don't even come close for me.
I loved the poems you posted in the past few days.
And the photos.
You live somewhere lovely.
Always.
Merci.
Great Things I Have Received Lately, Part 6
John Taggart. American genius.
I reviewed one part of this book (when it was published as a limited edition chapbook) over at my Cerebral Douchebag blog.
Now I have the book in its entirety, thanks to the kindness of Devin Johnston.
Thank you, Devin.
And congratulations, Devin, on receiving recognition at the highest level with your most recent book.
I am very envious of poets who get to publish with your press.
Was that subtle?
lolol.
People, buy this.
And buy the whole catalogue from this press.
Same as with WAVE books.
It might get as good elsewhere, but it doesn't really get any better.
Great Things I Have Received Lately, Part 5
A novel by John Hawkes.
I bought this at the Salvation Army store today for 1.99.
You can still see the price tag.
There was a pubic hair that got into the scan but I edited it out.
It wasn't mine.
Trust me.
I bought this because of this synopsis: "In keeping with his complex intentions, Hawkes has written two narratives, both of which feature the same eleven year old girl. Thanks to reincarnation, Virginie leads two lives. The first as as the servant and companion of an exquisitely depraved member of the ancien regime. Known only as Seigneur....
In her second life, Virginie finds herself in Paris just after World War II, the younger sister of a taxi driver named Bocage, who whiles away his evening with a circle of hearty streetwalkers and their companions, including the tattooed boxer, Lulu."
I wonder if he says "Thank you, Virginia Woolf" somewhere in this book.
And does the word "tattooed" annoy you in that sentence above as much as it did me? I realize that's a metaphysical question of the sort that people ask all the time. Wittgensteinian question?
Oh well. You know book jacket copy.
I spared you the misery of reading the whole thing, as I spared myself the misery of typing the whole thing.
But for two bucks I figured I'd give it a try.
I'm already feeling iffy on it.
And I haven't even begun reading it yet.
It's just there were some things I read further in the copy I didn't type here, touting the novel's "bawdiness" and such.
I know that's supposed to sell books, but nobody's used "bawdiness" to sell books for fifty years.
And "bawdiness" means exquisitely boring.
Bawdiness means fuckall when it comes to sex.
Even "depraved" is just another Crayola color now.
I don't know what adjective would suffice to entice today.
But I would have at least innovated something like "slutted-out."
"Let's just hope the protagonist's pussy is Vulcanized."
Say something like that.
If you're going to play games like that.
Okay?
Great Things I Received Lately, Part 4
This came in the mail today from poet Ray DiPalma.
Thanks, Ray!
As I mentioned, I enjoy when poets use anachronism (especially when they throw the Classical world or the Middle Ages into the pomo mix...poets like Hocquard and Laura Moriarty do this so well).
And so does Ray DiPalma!
He was kind enough to send his Gravitational Anomalies and the two poems you are seeing here are from his Hotel des Ruines, which first appeared (if memory serves correctly) as a livre d'artiste with art by a French artist whose name escapes me (but I'm thinking Alexandre is part of the name?)
I remember seeing some of the poems from that collection in American Poetry Review. I remember reading the poems one afternoon in downtown Harrisburg, in a restaurant in the Strawberry Square complex, in (Susquehanna Museum founder) Patricia Murray's copy of APR, actually. We were having lunch and talking about a new show that was going up.
And I remember I was so into the poems (especially Ray's) that I walked away with her magazine.
And I never did return it to her.
And she later died.
This is not a story with a happy ending.
I miss her.
She was tireless and brave and about the size of a sparrow but could lift paintings that weighed three times what she did.
We had (oddly enough) spookily similar tastes in art.
The difference was this: she had millions of dollars to buy the stuff.
But this worked out, because I still got to enjoy it.
In her museum.
Well, everyone's museum.
She was a generous woman.
She had a great soul.
She died way too young.
HOW EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED: If you click on the image to read the poems, you will note that Ray is quoting the "thkk, thgk" of the loom thing. So there's Duncan whom I was just talking about, and I suppose you could step back further to Pound, right. Synchronicity of the day? I hadn't yet opened Ray's pamphlet before yapping about Duncan.
Great Things I Received Lately, Part 3
Mary Ruefle's Tristimania.
This one I bought for myself on ABE.
I almost have the complete Ruefle collection now.
I corresponded briefly with Mary many moons ago and even ended up talking on the phone with her.
Later, she sent me a lovely book with a lovely inscription and as I was in the midst of the breakup of my twelve year relationship, I was in no condition to mount any response whatsoever to communication...from anyone...about anything...
I stopped speaking to anyone in the "poetry world" and stopped doing the things healthy people are supposed to do....for a while, anyway.
And then life resumed.
And since then I have followed her poetry with the same degree of amazement and have felt great happiness for her many successes.
I can only hope that in her brain the engram for "schmuck" isn't linked to the engram for my name...if there is such an engram at all in her brain (the latter, I mean). I'm sure she has a "schmuck" engram.
We ALL have that. Because it's so useful.
I read this collection in the bathtub on the day it arrived and began to prune.
She moves seriously into Edward Gorey/Edward Lear territory with a few of these poems, and I realize there are those who will think that a form of slight (especially the Lear comparison) but I'd have to say "fuck you" to those people, since I consider all three of these artists geniuses.
And that's only in a few poems that she goes that direction.
It isn't as though she decided to start writing verse instead of poetry. Don't get me wrong. That's not what I'm saying.
I'm just saying she takes the poem into the strange terrain of serious childishness sometimes...that same terrain that Gorey and Lear were fond of entering...to fuck with their readers' heads.
Mary Ruefle is the worst kind of genius. The kind that doesn't fit the "we need this kind of genius right now" mold. Which is, of course, the best kind of genius.
The wrong sort of genius is my favorite kind.
She's not afraid of anachronisms or of occasionally being willfully anachronistic.
Only great poets can get away with that. Robert Duncan comes to mind, but there are many others.
But seriously....
Some of these poems Gorey would have killed to illustrate.
The poem about the two vowels that wooed and died. Their elegy. That's so Gorey.
There are a few others in that vein.
Poems that are almost children's poem...or maybe they are poems for the children who hide in vodka bottles and therapy sessions. Those kids deserve poems too!
And she does some beautiful things with fairy tales, perverts them wonderfully.
That's a fetish of mine...perversions of fairy tales.
Gorey worked with some decent poets (and some dreadful ones).
I wish he could have done a book with Mary Ruefle.
Gorey adored Lear, of course. That was the one he really modeled himself after, although he became completely his own creature.
I'll have to say more about this book later, and share a poem or two.
So you see I ain't lyin.
Great Things I Received Lately, Part 2
Brooklyn Copeland sent me this book of lovely poems.
I read them in my kitchen in the middle of the night.
Standing up.
Because they were keeping me there.
I plan on reading them again.
Thank you, Brooklyn.
Lovely work.
And lovely's not a bad word round these parts (as it apparently is in some quarters).
Great Things I Received Lately
These are two c.d.s Lee just gave me.
He found them for me at the library.
So I am ripping these right now.
I know I will love them because I love both these guys.
Guess which one of them is a Brown alumnus.
The background is this laminated chart featuring common birds of North America. I found that at the Salvation Army store today.
It's very pretty and has birds on both sides.
And it has an eyelet to hang it, so you can have it on your wall near your window so when you spy the bird in question, you can question the laminated bird questioner.
I already know most of these birds.
Or the ones I have any chance of seeing round these parts.
But it's pretty.
I Don't Know Which Was Worse Today...
avoiding all the children with swine flu who were all around me or avoiding the swine with child flu who were all around me.
I'm joking! And I love kids.
I'm the one in the thrift store who lowers all the really good items so the kids can reach them and puts the stuff they should NOT have up on the tippy top shelves.
Today, I noticed someone had actually put a box of dried salmon in the TOYS section at the Salvation Army store.
What the fuck?
I mean I know that stuff keeps somewhat but I was looking for a date on the box and I'm guessing it's from the nineties.
If the economy keeps up (or rather down) things like that are going to start to look appetizing.
Maybe one of the workers there was making a point.
Well, the Icelanders love their hardfiskur and I bet they'd eat it if it was a few years old.
Maybe I'm just being a pussy.
But I do believe I might have saved a Corky today.
That has to be as good for at least one Catholic Indulgence if I can just get into Purgatory.
I'm joking! And I love kids.
I'm the one in the thrift store who lowers all the really good items so the kids can reach them and puts the stuff they should NOT have up on the tippy top shelves.
Today, I noticed someone had actually put a box of dried salmon in the TOYS section at the Salvation Army store.
What the fuck?
I mean I know that stuff keeps somewhat but I was looking for a date on the box and I'm guessing it's from the nineties.
If the economy keeps up (or rather down) things like that are going to start to look appetizing.
Maybe one of the workers there was making a point.
Well, the Icelanders love their hardfiskur and I bet they'd eat it if it was a few years old.
Maybe I'm just being a pussy.
But I do believe I might have saved a Corky today.
That has to be as good for at least one Catholic Indulgence if I can just get into Purgatory.
Lee is Reading (Gay Porn Star) Aiden Shaw's My Undoing
and some other book by Shaw.
I can't say I'm not tempted to pick it up.
Are there pictures?
Will it break my heart?
Is he still alive?
I better not read it.
Oh, he's very much alive.
I just checked him on Wiki.
He's even written novels and poetry.
Maybe that's a novel under the autobio.
WIKI was bitching about standards on his entry (which were fine).
WIKI was being a little bitch.
WIKI is getting very difficult lately.
It would be weird to read a book of poetry by someone to whom I've wanked off.
This was years ago, kids! He's my age.
Of course, there was Wallace Stevens too.
So it's not like it would be without precedent.
What? You didn't know I'm a chubby chaser with a hard-on for corpulent insurance men?
And how sexy his voice when he would say "concupiscence." (Did you ever hear him read his poetry? Absolutely horrible reader. A genius, sure. But terrible reader/interpreter of his own works).
I laugh every time I think of that line where Ted Berrigan describes Stevens as having the "Body of Hecuba."
Birth, birth and more birth.
I can't say I'm not tempted to pick it up.
Are there pictures?
Will it break my heart?
Is he still alive?
I better not read it.
Oh, he's very much alive.
I just checked him on Wiki.
He's even written novels and poetry.
Maybe that's a novel under the autobio.
WIKI was bitching about standards on his entry (which were fine).
WIKI was being a little bitch.
WIKI is getting very difficult lately.
It would be weird to read a book of poetry by someone to whom I've wanked off.
This was years ago, kids! He's my age.
Of course, there was Wallace Stevens too.
So it's not like it would be without precedent.
What? You didn't know I'm a chubby chaser with a hard-on for corpulent insurance men?
And how sexy his voice when he would say "concupiscence." (Did you ever hear him read his poetry? Absolutely horrible reader. A genius, sure. But terrible reader/interpreter of his own works).
I laugh every time I think of that line where Ted Berrigan describes Stevens as having the "Body of Hecuba."
Birth, birth and more birth.
Rachel, You Are a Sweetheart!
I loved the note that was in my mailbox today and I opened it without ripping the stickers (maybe one of the tiny pinpoint ones a teeny weeny bit).
I had just come back from the dentist and he had given me good news that nothing looked worrisome in my mouth at all. I was being paranoid about something which turns out to be normal and not pathological. It was a vein that was supposed to be there and I thought it was like at tumor or something icky. Who knew? I'm in the whatyoucallit hypervigilant mode lately...
I liked it when I asked for a clarification about what a particular nasty thing would look like and the dentist said it would look "ickier."
I like professional talk like that.
Anyway, I felt so happy that I went to a thrift store and bought a few items.
Then I went to the dollar store and bought a bunch of materials I want to use for BITTER CRAYON projects.
I am going to be working on a one of a kind sort of novel thing tonight which should be done fairly quickly.
But then I have materials for other projects so I will need to start soliciting poets.
I think I will go scan some of these things from today upstairs.
I hope it's okay I scan your lovely letter.
Just because it's so pretty.
I'm honored that something from one of my stories got into one of yours.
And I do believe in Angels.
I just hope I got rid of all the fallen ones around me that were grooming me.
I attended the School of Fallen Angels.
It's like an arts magnet school that Hell undewrites.
You're even allowed to fuck your teachers there. All your teachers.
xo B.
I had just come back from the dentist and he had given me good news that nothing looked worrisome in my mouth at all. I was being paranoid about something which turns out to be normal and not pathological. It was a vein that was supposed to be there and I thought it was like at tumor or something icky. Who knew? I'm in the whatyoucallit hypervigilant mode lately...
I liked it when I asked for a clarification about what a particular nasty thing would look like and the dentist said it would look "ickier."
I like professional talk like that.
Anyway, I felt so happy that I went to a thrift store and bought a few items.
Then I went to the dollar store and bought a bunch of materials I want to use for BITTER CRAYON projects.
I am going to be working on a one of a kind sort of novel thing tonight which should be done fairly quickly.
But then I have materials for other projects so I will need to start soliciting poets.
I think I will go scan some of these things from today upstairs.
I hope it's okay I scan your lovely letter.
Just because it's so pretty.
I'm honored that something from one of my stories got into one of yours.
And I do believe in Angels.
I just hope I got rid of all the fallen ones around me that were grooming me.
I attended the School of Fallen Angels.
It's like an arts magnet school that Hell undewrites.
You're even allowed to fuck your teachers there. All your teachers.
xo B.
Dear Dust Bunny,
I realize it wasn't my turn to write to you but I took your email to me and did a cut-up of it, because I like to find out what the language behind the language is saying sometimes. I do this to my own words all the time to try to suss out what my selves are really saying to my self.
Anyway, here's some of what I found...
Art and assholes explain.
Makes me feel the universe's that cart that has such a moral/critical function.
Acknowledging that you live is not a novel.
Stupid and cartoonish the world's halfhearted empathy.
You will be its wheel of disease.
I'm not a parable about life or a unicorn...
If only glass could understand life.
When I lay I can't explain.
I am offering to angrily write you existence.
Buy from other radiation. I value that.
The Dust Bunny wanted perched with a menagerie.
I fell, whether animal or any coma but separated from It was like a coming into a coming or into a hearing.
I don't believe freaks get paid for that moment on earth.
Fetch is the artist.
Only pass the asshole.
Only pass the asshole on by shoving reading.
I'm sorry I was so long in consciousness.
Missing experience, some deflective shatter...
Art evenly divided between susceptible anthropomorphisms is Whoops!
Maybe will be something. Maybe an asshole quandary exists in you as in me.
I am wearing makeup as I get my crowbar.Because I am getting ready to go on a date.
WTF?!
Were you really saying those things to me secretly?
You sound like Robert Smithson, but with a sense of humor.
I have to go now. I have an appointment.
Write me back something snarly.
xo Glass Unicorn
Anyway, here's some of what I found...
Art and assholes explain.
Makes me feel the universe's that cart that has such a moral/critical function.
Acknowledging that you live is not a novel.
Stupid and cartoonish the world's halfhearted empathy.
You will be its wheel of disease.
I'm not a parable about life or a unicorn...
If only glass could understand life.
When I lay I can't explain.
I am offering to angrily write you existence.
Buy from other radiation. I value that.
The Dust Bunny wanted perched with a menagerie.
I fell, whether animal or any coma but separated from It was like a coming into a coming or into a hearing.
I don't believe freaks get paid for that moment on earth.
Fetch is the artist.
Only pass the asshole.
Only pass the asshole on by shoving reading.
I'm sorry I was so long in consciousness.
Missing experience, some deflective shatter...
Art evenly divided between susceptible anthropomorphisms is Whoops!
Maybe will be something. Maybe an asshole quandary exists in you as in me.
I am wearing makeup as I get my crowbar.Because I am getting ready to go on a date.
WTF?!
Were you really saying those things to me secretly?
You sound like Robert Smithson, but with a sense of humor.
I have to go now. I have an appointment.
Write me back something snarly.
xo Glass Unicorn
Dear Dust Bunny,
It is I, the Glass Unicorn. Who talks like that anyway? The correct American English human person talk is "It's me." You should have just said, "Hi. It's me. The Dust Bunny." No doubt you now realize I'm a fascist since I'm telling you what you should say. I'm putting words in your famous dust bunny mouth. I did understand that you probably weren't lying in what you just wrote me but don't take this the wrong way: I think you are really fucked up. I thought about a lot of things when I read you email, but mostly Walt Disney I think. The death of Michael Jackson as a Walt Disney cartoon. That's something you would write well, in your dust bunny way. It's interesting you saw the shopping cart in the rainy parking lot as a dichotomous situation. I could think of lots of other things to do with the shopping cart besides leave it or take it. It doesn't surprise me that you were in a dissociative state when I read my novel to you. That's not meant as an insult. It's just a vibe I get off you. I believe you have a lot of money. That's a thing to know about a person, isn't it? Maybe it wasn't empathy but just some form of stupid grammatical impulse that made you think of taking the cart inside the store. Maybe you have a compulsion to complete sentences. This is why you are a successful dust bunny. Even writing me here is a form of completion of a sentence. That makes me want to derail the sentence, possibly. To make your sentence crash into the wall before you push it there yourself. I don't know if you're straight or gay but probably you've encountered this situation when a relationship is ending. The race towards the destruction of the relationship can become so exhilarating it puts the participants in great peril. And they might even giggle while they're doing it. I can't get past that shopping cart. Why the fuck did you tell me that? Maybe you get off on pushing the cart into the queue of the other carts in the foyer like it was your dick. You probably split into three more dust bunnies during the time it took me to write this email to you. I hope you won't find it offensive that I find that sort of disgusting. How quickly your kind reproduces.
Warmly,
The Glass Unicorn
Warmly,
The Glass Unicorn
Dear Glass Unicorn,
It is I, the Dust Bunny. I saw your blog post and wanted to write you as a way of acknowledging your existence, however meager (or meagre, if you live there) it might actually be. It is true that I was there when you fell off the shelf where you had been perched with the other glass animals in that menagerie. I won't ask you whether you really fell, whether you were pushed by another glass animal or whether you jumped. I could understand any of those things happening in life, because I know what life is. I'm sorry I did not respond when you read your long novel to me, but please know that I heard every word. I was not in a coma but it's as though my consciousness was separated from my body. I was weirdly relaxed. It was as though my consciousness was tuned into a frequency where the station was almost coming in clearly, but with some weird bleed-over and dissonance from other stations and the white noise background radiation that's left over from the big bang (that shit you can hear on any radio). I can't articulate a response to hearing your novel at this point in time, but I don't want you to take that as a value judgment. It's not that I don't believe in value judgments. I'm not a freak like that. I do believe strongly in value judgments and make them all the time, like when I decide on a rainy afternoon whether to take an abandoned shopping cart in the parking lot inside the store, or just leave it there for the unhealthy-looking kid who gets paid to do that. I think at that moment my feelings about art and life on earth are divided evenly between some sort of fucked-up irrational empathy for the empty shopping cart (as readers we are susceptible to this stupid cartoonish form of anthropomorphism vis-a-vis images in the world or even in text) and some bullshit halfhearted empathy for the kid who will need to fetch it later. I guess the cart is the art and the kid is the artist. Only assholes explain. Whoops! Maybe when I pass the kid he will be a real asshole to me or something. Maybe the cart will be a real asshole too and one of its wheels will have some sort of wheel disease that makes me curse it because it makes me feel handicapped. Am I missing out on the universe's offer to experience empathy by shoving that cart angrily into a wall? But no such moral/critical quandary existed when you read your novel to me as I lay on the carpet beside you. I can't explain. I'm not trying to make up some deflective parable about literary criticism here to save your life or anything. I mean if a glass unicorn decides it's gonna jump and shatter, that's what it's going to do. So please don't assume you've forced open some door in my soul with an emotional crowbar. Because there is no door, no crowbar, and possibly no soul. But if you want to talk for a while, we can.
Regards,
The Dust Bunny
Regards,
The Dust Bunny
Self-Pity Poems with a Dust Bunny Included
SELF-PITY POEM
I am sad because Google has banished my blog.
SELF-PITY POEM
I feel Nan Goldin should take a picture
of what Google did to me.
SELF-PITY POEM
I can't even be in the Google American tree.
SELF-PITY POEM
Oh, why was I ever given a self?
SELF-PITY POEM
Why does my self have to be the kind that shakes itself
to the point of shaken baby syndrome
and get away with it
just like that evil British nanny girl?
SELF-PITY POEM
Why do t.v. gurus and websites lie
and say you can change your self for a different one?
SELF-PITY POEM
abcdefg hijklmnop qrs tuv wxyz
SELF-PITY POEM
Real abuse is not something funny.
It's not something to be made light of in a poem.
It's something that should only exist
between a self and a self.
And, ideally, those selves
should be the same self.
And then they should feel free
to wallop away all day.
SELF-PITY POEM (to a receptionist)
"No. I'm not here the more glamorous type of 'self-abuse.'"
SELF-PITY POEM
Why don't I feel Catholic enough?
Is it because I didn't join the Church
or attend any of the services?
SELF-PITY POEM
I though agnosticism could protect me.
Boy was I wrong!
As wrong as Tokyo was about Godzilla.
SELF-PITY POEM
(overheard, woman on the street)
"Even potato chips frighten me now
because of the potential
for palatal damage."
SELF-PITY POEM
I wanted to stop you
and congratulate you
for using the word "palatal."
SELF-PITY POEM
Is that smug?
To congratulate someone
on using the word "palatal?"
Does that constitute an insidious attempt
to build a bridge of superiority
over the thin public air?
SELF-PITY POEM
I am beginning to see
my skull instead of my face.
when I look in the mirror.
SELF-PITY POEM
If I were an actor,
could I play a different part?
Or does that sort of camouflage
offer zero protection really?
SELF-PITY POEM
Baidu in China.
Thank you for treating me nicer
than Google does.
I like your panda paw print.
SELF-PITY POEM
I made this cardboard sign:
"WILL WORK FOR GOOGLE CITATIONS"
I'm looking for a freeway right now.
SELF-PITY POEM
I have this iffy relationship
with food lately.
SELF-PITY POEM
I try to interrogate my food
before I eat it.
But in a nice way.
Sometimes the food doesn't comply
and I feel like the Food Gestapo.
Baked potatoes are usually compliant.
Horseradish has the fire of the Resistance.
SELF-PITY POEM
My friends are sad or broke or sad and broke.
Still, they are pretty.
Pretty glass animals.
I keep them on a shelf
and look at them sometimes.
SELF-PITY POEM
I am a bitchy glass animal.
I fell off the shelf long ago.
I wrote an entire novel
in the form of a monologue,
and recited it to a dust bunny
who happened to be resting
near where I landed when I fell.
SELF-PITY POEM
The dust bunny just happened
to be near where I landed
when I fell off the shelf.
I'm not sure if the dust bunny
ever heard anything I said.
When I spoke my novel to it.
SELF-PITY POEM
I would capitalize the dust bunny's
"name" like this: Dust Bunny
if I was sure the Dust Bunny
really was conscious
when I recited my long travail.
But I'm fairly certain
I will never know the answer.
SELF-PITY POEM
It is possible the dust bunny
was in a medically-induced coma.
The dust bunny empathy might have been
covered up by modern medicine
and its insidious silencing tactics
vis-a-vis the life and death struggle.
SELF-PITY POEM
It is possible the dust bunny
was in a self-induced coma.
That happens too.
SELF-PITY POEM
It is possible the dusty bunny
was practicing "literary criticism"
by not speaking
when I recited my long novel
after falling off the shelf.
SELF-PITY POEM
You see, I was part of a Glass Menagerie.
I think it was American poetry.
There were a lot of glass animals.
Many of them are still on the shelf.
You push a button in their back
and they start to speak and speak and speak
and sometimes sing.
I think the musical component
was made in China.
But the message is in English,
narrowly cheerful.
SELF-PITY POEM
Possibly the dust bunny
had decided to NEVER speak to a glass animal
should it fall off the shelf
and land in the environs.
It might have been a territorial thing
or just a mentally territorial thing.
SELF-PITY POEM
I can't defend myself
by insulting the dust bunny's tastes
as I don't know
the dust bunny's taste
or even if it has a taste or tastes.
It's almost as if the dust bunny
had blocked me on FACEBOOK
before we had ever met.
SELF-PITY POEM
I bet the dust bunny
is on FACEBOOK.
SELF-PITY POEM
I bet the dust bunny
1) is on FACEBOOK
2) has more friends than I do on FACEBOOK
3) gets more empathetic responses its postings on FACEBOOK than I do
4) talks shit about me on FACEBOOK in private chat
and
5) has now blocked me on FACEBOOK because it had to feign unconciousness the whole time I was reading my novel to it, that time I fell off the glass animal shelf
SELF-PITY POEM
I am jealous of the dust bunny.
I don't want to be a dust bunny.
All that rolling, rolling, rolling.
Like tumbleweed.
But still.
SELF-PITY POEM
I don't want to be the dust bunny.
But can't I still just resentfully wallow
a little while here?
Quietly?
SELF-PITY POEM
I bet the dust bunny has no health or money problems.
I bet the dust bunny breeds like rabbits.
I bet the dust bunny has a Hummer and a hybrid.
I be the dust bunny has a Hummer and a hybrid mind
and chooses the context of the social gathering
to dress its dust bunny self and its dust bunny mind.
SELF-PITY POEM
Dust bunnies usually do feel superior.
They are all under the same great bed together.
SELF-PITY POEM
How do I get into the Dust Bunny Collective?
I know that's one way to get my book published.
But I heard they don't allow glass animals to join.
They don't publish that in their guidelines.
They use Gestapo words like "unsolicited."
SELF-PITY POEM
Unsolicited is German for Non-Dust Bunny.
It's just like the Aryan coloring books Hitler gave out.
SELF-PITY POEM
I would love to see a fight to the death
between a dust bunny and a scientologist.
Just once.
SELF-PITY POEM
Once, a dust bunny got mad at me
because I made fun of Fight Club.
SELF-PITY POEM
I am a tiny glass animal.
You can just look through me and watch television.
Pretend I'm not even here.
If I grew tits though, you would stare.
And that might be uncomfortable.
SELF-PITY POEM
Dust bunnies do most of their work
while I'm asleep.
Right under my bed.
Do they have no shame?
SELF-PITY POEM
Once, I passed a dust bunny
in the halls where I go for therapy
but I knew the dust bunny was faking mental illness.
There was some sort of scheme or research
going on.
Dust bunnies are invulnerable.
It was such an Invasion of the Body Snatchers moment.
I think the dust bunny said, "Hey."
As though we were a similar species.
And I think I said "Hey" back.
I didn't want the dust bunny to suss me out
right there.
He could have had a dust bunny pod
in the glove compartment of his car just waiting.
SELF-PITY POEM
What if I gave it some crumbs.
If I fed the dust bunny.
Or some of my hairs I was shedding.
Would that be like love?
Would the dust bunny understand
I was freely giving a gift
or would it be interpreted as weakness,
a form of surrender.
Would it turn that dust bunny ravenous?
SELF-PITY POEM
This is a Monday
but I've already had a whole week
of anxiety.
It's too late to pro-rate it.
SELF-PITY POEM
I worry about dying
but not Death so much.
I think it's the other way
around with dust bunnies.
Dust bunnies are strong.
SELF-PITY POEM
The only difference between the Aryan Brotherhood
and dust bunnies
is that when a dusty bunny
crosses their brotherhood
nobody ever finds that dust bunny again.
Not even the special task force.
SELF-PITY POEM
O Dust Bunny, may I read my novel to you again?
I am just lying here sidewise on this carpet
and have nothing else to do.
SELF-PITY POEM
It's true the first few lines are stolen from a Morrissey song
but I trust you will forgive that.
I can sing them if you'd like...
"Call me morbid, call me pale...
SELF-PITY POEM
Sometimes I think my pillows are God.
I believe He has shown me this one Kindness.
And incarnated.
The red chenille one that leaves marks
on my face and ears
is doubtless the Blessed Virgin.
SELF-PITY POEM
If you are a glass animal,
you should send me something in the mail.
But make sure you address it to me
so the dust bunny doesn't get it first.
That could be Dire.
I am sad because Google has banished my blog.
SELF-PITY POEM
I feel Nan Goldin should take a picture
of what Google did to me.
SELF-PITY POEM
I can't even be in the Google American tree.
SELF-PITY POEM
Oh, why was I ever given a self?
SELF-PITY POEM
Why does my self have to be the kind that shakes itself
to the point of shaken baby syndrome
and get away with it
just like that evil British nanny girl?
SELF-PITY POEM
Why do t.v. gurus and websites lie
and say you can change your self for a different one?
SELF-PITY POEM
abcdefg hijklmnop qrs tuv wxyz
SELF-PITY POEM
Real abuse is not something funny.
It's not something to be made light of in a poem.
It's something that should only exist
between a self and a self.
And, ideally, those selves
should be the same self.
And then they should feel free
to wallop away all day.
SELF-PITY POEM (to a receptionist)
"No. I'm not here the more glamorous type of 'self-abuse.'"
SELF-PITY POEM
Why don't I feel Catholic enough?
Is it because I didn't join the Church
or attend any of the services?
SELF-PITY POEM
I though agnosticism could protect me.
Boy was I wrong!
As wrong as Tokyo was about Godzilla.
SELF-PITY POEM
(overheard, woman on the street)
"Even potato chips frighten me now
because of the potential
for palatal damage."
SELF-PITY POEM
I wanted to stop you
and congratulate you
for using the word "palatal."
SELF-PITY POEM
Is that smug?
To congratulate someone
on using the word "palatal?"
Does that constitute an insidious attempt
to build a bridge of superiority
over the thin public air?
SELF-PITY POEM
I am beginning to see
my skull instead of my face.
when I look in the mirror.
SELF-PITY POEM
If I were an actor,
could I play a different part?
Or does that sort of camouflage
offer zero protection really?
SELF-PITY POEM
Baidu in China.
Thank you for treating me nicer
than Google does.
I like your panda paw print.
SELF-PITY POEM
I made this cardboard sign:
"WILL WORK FOR GOOGLE CITATIONS"
I'm looking for a freeway right now.
SELF-PITY POEM
I have this iffy relationship
with food lately.
SELF-PITY POEM
I try to interrogate my food
before I eat it.
But in a nice way.
Sometimes the food doesn't comply
and I feel like the Food Gestapo.
Baked potatoes are usually compliant.
Horseradish has the fire of the Resistance.
SELF-PITY POEM
My friends are sad or broke or sad and broke.
Still, they are pretty.
Pretty glass animals.
I keep them on a shelf
and look at them sometimes.
SELF-PITY POEM
I am a bitchy glass animal.
I fell off the shelf long ago.
I wrote an entire novel
in the form of a monologue,
and recited it to a dust bunny
who happened to be resting
near where I landed when I fell.
SELF-PITY POEM
The dust bunny just happened
to be near where I landed
when I fell off the shelf.
I'm not sure if the dust bunny
ever heard anything I said.
When I spoke my novel to it.
SELF-PITY POEM
I would capitalize the dust bunny's
"name" like this: Dust Bunny
if I was sure the Dust Bunny
really was conscious
when I recited my long travail.
But I'm fairly certain
I will never know the answer.
SELF-PITY POEM
It is possible the dust bunny
was in a medically-induced coma.
The dust bunny empathy might have been
covered up by modern medicine
and its insidious silencing tactics
vis-a-vis the life and death struggle.
SELF-PITY POEM
It is possible the dust bunny
was in a self-induced coma.
That happens too.
SELF-PITY POEM
It is possible the dusty bunny
was practicing "literary criticism"
by not speaking
when I recited my long novel
after falling off the shelf.
SELF-PITY POEM
You see, I was part of a Glass Menagerie.
I think it was American poetry.
There were a lot of glass animals.
Many of them are still on the shelf.
You push a button in their back
and they start to speak and speak and speak
and sometimes sing.
I think the musical component
was made in China.
But the message is in English,
narrowly cheerful.
SELF-PITY POEM
Possibly the dust bunny
had decided to NEVER speak to a glass animal
should it fall off the shelf
and land in the environs.
It might have been a territorial thing
or just a mentally territorial thing.
SELF-PITY POEM
I can't defend myself
by insulting the dust bunny's tastes
as I don't know
the dust bunny's taste
or even if it has a taste or tastes.
It's almost as if the dust bunny
had blocked me on FACEBOOK
before we had ever met.
SELF-PITY POEM
I bet the dust bunny
is on FACEBOOK.
SELF-PITY POEM
I bet the dust bunny
1) is on FACEBOOK
2) has more friends than I do on FACEBOOK
3) gets more empathetic responses its postings on FACEBOOK than I do
4) talks shit about me on FACEBOOK in private chat
and
5) has now blocked me on FACEBOOK because it had to feign unconciousness the whole time I was reading my novel to it, that time I fell off the glass animal shelf
SELF-PITY POEM
I am jealous of the dust bunny.
I don't want to be a dust bunny.
All that rolling, rolling, rolling.
Like tumbleweed.
But still.
SELF-PITY POEM
I don't want to be the dust bunny.
But can't I still just resentfully wallow
a little while here?
Quietly?
SELF-PITY POEM
I bet the dust bunny has no health or money problems.
I bet the dust bunny breeds like rabbits.
I bet the dust bunny has a Hummer and a hybrid.
I be the dust bunny has a Hummer and a hybrid mind
and chooses the context of the social gathering
to dress its dust bunny self and its dust bunny mind.
SELF-PITY POEM
Dust bunnies usually do feel superior.
They are all under the same great bed together.
SELF-PITY POEM
How do I get into the Dust Bunny Collective?
I know that's one way to get my book published.
But I heard they don't allow glass animals to join.
They don't publish that in their guidelines.
They use Gestapo words like "unsolicited."
SELF-PITY POEM
Unsolicited is German for Non-Dust Bunny.
It's just like the Aryan coloring books Hitler gave out.
SELF-PITY POEM
I would love to see a fight to the death
between a dust bunny and a scientologist.
Just once.
SELF-PITY POEM
Once, a dust bunny got mad at me
because I made fun of Fight Club.
SELF-PITY POEM
I am a tiny glass animal.
You can just look through me and watch television.
Pretend I'm not even here.
If I grew tits though, you would stare.
And that might be uncomfortable.
SELF-PITY POEM
Dust bunnies do most of their work
while I'm asleep.
Right under my bed.
Do they have no shame?
SELF-PITY POEM
Once, I passed a dust bunny
in the halls where I go for therapy
but I knew the dust bunny was faking mental illness.
There was some sort of scheme or research
going on.
Dust bunnies are invulnerable.
It was such an Invasion of the Body Snatchers moment.
I think the dust bunny said, "Hey."
As though we were a similar species.
And I think I said "Hey" back.
I didn't want the dust bunny to suss me out
right there.
He could have had a dust bunny pod
in the glove compartment of his car just waiting.
SELF-PITY POEM
What if I gave it some crumbs.
If I fed the dust bunny.
Or some of my hairs I was shedding.
Would that be like love?
Would the dust bunny understand
I was freely giving a gift
or would it be interpreted as weakness,
a form of surrender.
Would it turn that dust bunny ravenous?
SELF-PITY POEM
This is a Monday
but I've already had a whole week
of anxiety.
It's too late to pro-rate it.
SELF-PITY POEM
I worry about dying
but not Death so much.
I think it's the other way
around with dust bunnies.
Dust bunnies are strong.
SELF-PITY POEM
The only difference between the Aryan Brotherhood
and dust bunnies
is that when a dusty bunny
crosses their brotherhood
nobody ever finds that dust bunny again.
Not even the special task force.
SELF-PITY POEM
O Dust Bunny, may I read my novel to you again?
I am just lying here sidewise on this carpet
and have nothing else to do.
SELF-PITY POEM
It's true the first few lines are stolen from a Morrissey song
but I trust you will forgive that.
I can sing them if you'd like...
"Call me morbid, call me pale...
SELF-PITY POEM
Sometimes I think my pillows are God.
I believe He has shown me this one Kindness.
And incarnated.
The red chenille one that leaves marks
on my face and ears
is doubtless the Blessed Virgin.
SELF-PITY POEM
If you are a glass animal,
you should send me something in the mail.
But make sure you address it to me
so the dust bunny doesn't get it first.
That could be Dire.
Scribd Has Evolved
since I've last been there.
Trip's done a great job with making it all more user-friendly, and it has a lively feed now a la FACEBOOK and other sites.
Check out this document, which is hilarious.
Comic alterations of our paper currency....
This makes me want to go deface money. If I had any.
Trip's done a great job with making it all more user-friendly, and it has a lively feed now a la FACEBOOK and other sites.
Check out this document, which is hilarious.
Comic alterations of our paper currency....
This makes me want to go deface money. If I had any.
I Didn't Even Know
I have 79 Subscribers on Scribd and didn't even know it.
I published some lit stuff there and a lot of cheesy, more fun type stuff.
It was fun.
I like Scribd.
Here are my stats there:
75 documents
424,101 total reads
57 docs added to reading lists
237 total comments
Maybe I should just go hang out there for a while instead of here.
I haven't posted anything there for years.
It' a great group of folks who created that site.
I miss chatting with some of them.
I might as well start looking for other venues. I mean, if I want anybody to read anything I write. And sending stuff to magazines is so 1990s.
Because Google made it impossible for people to find anything I write or have written here.
And I did want to do some other blog projects.
There's one I've been wanting to do for some time but want to do anonymously.
And I suppose I should finish these novels I started.
The one's very close to completion since I wanted it to be a small book anyway.
I asked Google like four times now to help me out with getting reinstated into the search listings.
Not one personal response ever. Just the canned "we will reconsider."
When I pointed out that it would behoove them to just make the process easier and highlight EXACTLY what a blogger must remove to be "in compliance" I got no response either.
They should just tag the stuff and give you a single button you can click to instantly remove anything their web crawlers find "spam-like" or "non-compliant" or whatever.
Yes, how much can one expect from a FREE service. I know, I know. Still.
That's why that person had to use BAIDU (what is that? Chinese search engine?) to find the piece on my blog they wanted.
I asked others for help but nobody offered any assistance.
Why would they? They're poets, right.
Anyway, that's my rant for the day.
Now I can go focus on more pressing forms of life sucking.
xo
And to the person who keeps leaving the unicorn message under the transparent proxy, I know who you are.
And if you need me to refer you to a therapist who will give you an official diagnosis of pathetic (as opposed to my layman diagnosis) feel free to email me.
xo
I published some lit stuff there and a lot of cheesy, more fun type stuff.
It was fun.
I like Scribd.
Here are my stats there:
75 documents
424,101 total reads
57 docs added to reading lists
237 total comments
Maybe I should just go hang out there for a while instead of here.
I haven't posted anything there for years.
It' a great group of folks who created that site.
I miss chatting with some of them.
I might as well start looking for other venues. I mean, if I want anybody to read anything I write. And sending stuff to magazines is so 1990s.
Because Google made it impossible for people to find anything I write or have written here.
And I did want to do some other blog projects.
There's one I've been wanting to do for some time but want to do anonymously.
And I suppose I should finish these novels I started.
The one's very close to completion since I wanted it to be a small book anyway.
I asked Google like four times now to help me out with getting reinstated into the search listings.
Not one personal response ever. Just the canned "we will reconsider."
When I pointed out that it would behoove them to just make the process easier and highlight EXACTLY what a blogger must remove to be "in compliance" I got no response either.
They should just tag the stuff and give you a single button you can click to instantly remove anything their web crawlers find "spam-like" or "non-compliant" or whatever.
Yes, how much can one expect from a FREE service. I know, I know. Still.
That's why that person had to use BAIDU (what is that? Chinese search engine?) to find the piece on my blog they wanted.
I asked others for help but nobody offered any assistance.
Why would they? They're poets, right.
Anyway, that's my rant for the day.
Now I can go focus on more pressing forms of life sucking.
xo
And to the person who keeps leaving the unicorn message under the transparent proxy, I know who you are.
And if you need me to refer you to a therapist who will give you an official diagnosis of pathetic (as opposed to my layman diagnosis) feel free to email me.
xo
When Google Decides You are a Non-Person
You can't even search your own blog to find references to things you wrote. This includes, paradoxically, the things you are supposed to find and remove to remain "in compliance" with what the spider crawlers interpreted as spam or something on your blog.
The few people who still find you are fellow blogger friends and acquaintances and then the other search engines, sites, etc. give you some referrals.
One of the odder ones when I clicked on it was BAIDU. I do love their logo. Is that a panda paw?
Anyway, I was surprised to learn that I was the author of "The Dunwich Horror" and
that I am the "Richest Man in Babylon."
It was translating and from "characters" so I'm thinking this is most likely a Chinese search engine?
Hmmm with a panda paw? You think?
百度一下，找到相关网页86篇，用时0.001秒
来百度推广您的产品
找w.b keckler，点此进入！
最新w.b keckler，点此进入！
找更多w.b keckler，请来慧聪网
搜索最新w.b keckler，点此进入！
看w.b keckler小说在起点中文网
发表留言创建w.b.贴吧
Translation by W.B. Keckler
Translation by W.B. Keckler $14.00 100 pp. ISBN 1-879193-13-2 The first English translations of André Malraux's two most extreme works of fiction: the voluptuous surrealist novella The Kingdom of Farfelu (1928),...
www.fuguestatepress.com/malraux.html 14K 2009-5-19 - 百度快照
rock heals brought it: Comics & Pitchers Archives
... Posted by Rock Heals at 07:00 AM July 18, 2007 8.07.06 017 J Huntington Chase click image to... (thanks to W.B. Keckler) Posted by Rock Heals at 12:00 AM September 20, 2006 Look Mom, I Found a...
www.rockheals.com/archives/comics_pitchers/ 55K 2009-10-26 - 百度快照
William Falkner--Som e f煤ria
Views: 30 From: Iowa State University... William Miller Beardshear Papers, finding aid Views: 24 From: ... Robin Williams and Toni Collette in a Spoo... Views: 326 From: W.B. Keckler THE HISTORY OF KING ...
www.scribd.com/doc/7329698/William-Falkne ... 125K 2008-12-1 - 百度快照
Evang茅lico - Robin Jones Gunn - s茅rie Selena 03 - Quem ...
Robin Williams and Toni Collette in a Spoo... Views: 323 From: W.B. Keckler Life, Death, and Time ...- Quando voc锚 estiver pronta eles estar茫o aqui prontos tam b茅m, replicou a m茫e. Dez minutos depois,...
www.scribd.com/doc/7371236/Evangelico-Rob ... 125K 2008-12-6 - 百度快照
CYC盆栽义卖之人手安排表
Views: 52 From: flocasts.org Eugene 08 Festival Schedule Day 10 Views: 122 From: flocasts.org Robin ... Views: 295 From: W.B. Keckler Eugene Vale - T cnicas Del Gui n Para Cin... Views: 1195 From: ...
www.scribd.com/doc/6652885/CYC 91K 2008-11-18 繁体 - 百度快照
Evang茅lico - Robin Jones Gunn - s茅rie Selena 04 - Feche ...
Views: 326 From: W.B. Keckler Robin Cook - Abduccion Views: 146 From: Martin Rep. Sherry Jones on Open Meetings Views: 213 From: Seantbr Jones v. Jones (MAG+) - Document No. 4 Views: 101 From: Justia....
www.scribd.com/doc/7371238/Evangelico-Rob ... 125K 2008-12-7 - 百度快照
Como Funciona o Feitico - Feiti莽o n茫o Existe - Zhannko Id...
Views: 75 From: W.B. Keckler Existing Home Sales Drop 8% Views: 119 From: ConsumerMortgageReports Does God Exist Views: 135 From: Sally Morem Jesus钬?(Yeshua钬檚) Existence: Views: 92 From: Iris R. de ...
www.scribd.com/doc/7004621/Como-Funciona- ... 115K 2008-12-1 - 百度快照
El Horror de Dunwich
Views: 2053 From: W.B. Keckler Horror in RPG Views: 4 From: api_user_11797_Andr猫 ... Women in Horror Views: 14 From: FireKraker825 S1 Tomb of Horrors Views: 328 From: James Horror movie wisdom Views: ...
www.scribd.com/doc/6638007/El-Horror-de-D ... 125K 2008-12-6 - 百度快照
A Moral dos Ressentidos no Cinema Noir: Uma an谩lise do film...
Views: 2071 From: W.B. Keckler Genealogija morala (ON THE GENEAOLOGY OF M... Views: 33 From: Maraja American Film Market, Ypulse, People-Power... Views: 40 From: The Actor's Checklist mosca1 Views: 2 ...
www.scribd.com/doc/279900/A-Moral-dos-Res ... 125K 2008-12-8 - 百度快照
10 - 2潞 Samuel
10 - 2潞 Samuel.... Views: 3552 From: W.B. Keckler Richest-man-in- Babylon George Samuel Clason Views: 2577 From: toktosunov Samuel's Chinese CV Views: 186 From: xiawinter Notice: Environmental statements; notice...
www.scribd.com/doc/7021670/10-2-Samuel 112K 2008-12-3 - 百度快照
The few people who still find you are fellow blogger friends and acquaintances and then the other search engines, sites, etc. give you some referrals.
One of the odder ones when I clicked on it was BAIDU. I do love their logo. Is that a panda paw?
Anyway, I was surprised to learn that I was the author of "The Dunwich Horror" and
that I am the "Richest Man in Babylon."
It was translating and from "characters" so I'm thinking this is most likely a Chinese search engine?
Hmmm with a panda paw? You think?
百度一下，找到相关网页86篇，用时0.001秒
来百度推广您的产品
找w.b keckler，点此进入！
最新w.b keckler，点此进入！
找更多w.b keckler，请来慧聪网
搜索最新w.b keckler，点此进入！
看w.b keckler小说在起点中文网
发表留言创建w.b.贴吧
Translation by W.B. Keckler
Translation by W.B. Keckler $14.00 100 pp. ISBN 1-879193-13-2 The first English translations of André Malraux's two most extreme works of fiction: the voluptuous surrealist novella The Kingdom of Farfelu (1928),...
www.fuguestatepress.com/malraux.html 14K 2009-5-19 - 百度快照
rock heals brought it: Comics & Pitchers Archives
... Posted by Rock Heals at 07:00 AM July 18, 2007 8.07.06 017 J Huntington Chase click image to... (thanks to W.B. Keckler) Posted by Rock Heals at 12:00 AM September 20, 2006 Look Mom, I Found a...
www.rockheals.com/archives/comics_pitchers/ 55K 2009-10-26 - 百度快照
William Falkner--Som e f煤ria
Views: 30 From: Iowa State University... William Miller Beardshear Papers, finding aid Views: 24 From: ... Robin Williams and Toni Collette in a Spoo... Views: 326 From: W.B. Keckler THE HISTORY OF KING ...
www.scribd.com/doc/7329698/William-Falkne ... 125K 2008-12-1 - 百度快照
Evang茅lico - Robin Jones Gunn - s茅rie Selena 03 - Quem ...
Robin Williams and Toni Collette in a Spoo... Views: 323 From: W.B. Keckler Life, Death, and Time ...- Quando voc锚 estiver pronta eles estar茫o aqui prontos tam b茅m, replicou a m茫e. Dez minutos depois,...
www.scribd.com/doc/7371236/Evangelico-Rob ... 125K 2008-12-6 - 百度快照
CYC盆栽义卖之人手安排表
Views: 52 From: flocasts.org Eugene 08 Festival Schedule Day 10 Views: 122 From: flocasts.org Robin ... Views: 295 From: W.B. Keckler Eugene Vale - T cnicas Del Gui n Para Cin... Views: 1195 From: ...
www.scribd.com/doc/6652885/CYC 91K 2008-11-18 繁体 - 百度快照
Evang茅lico - Robin Jones Gunn - s茅rie Selena 04 - Feche ...
Views: 326 From: W.B. Keckler Robin Cook - Abduccion Views: 146 From: Martin Rep. Sherry Jones on Open Meetings Views: 213 From: Seantbr Jones v. Jones (MAG+) - Document No. 4 Views: 101 From: Justia....
www.scribd.com/doc/7371238/Evangelico-Rob ... 125K 2008-12-7 - 百度快照
Como Funciona o Feitico - Feiti莽o n茫o Existe - Zhannko Id...
Views: 75 From: W.B. Keckler Existing Home Sales Drop 8% Views: 119 From: ConsumerMortgageReports Does God Exist Views: 135 From: Sally Morem Jesus钬?(Yeshua钬檚) Existence: Views: 92 From: Iris R. de ...
www.scribd.com/doc/7004621/Como-Funciona- ... 115K 2008-12-1 - 百度快照
El Horror de Dunwich
Views: 2053 From: W.B. Keckler Horror in RPG Views: 4 From: api_user_11797_Andr猫 ... Women in Horror Views: 14 From: FireKraker825 S1 Tomb of Horrors Views: 328 From: James Horror movie wisdom Views: ...
www.scribd.com/doc/6638007/El-Horror-de-D ... 125K 2008-12-6 - 百度快照
A Moral dos Ressentidos no Cinema Noir: Uma an谩lise do film...
Views: 2071 From: W.B. Keckler Genealogija morala (ON THE GENEAOLOGY OF M... Views: 33 From: Maraja American Film Market, Ypulse, People-Power... Views: 40 From: The Actor's Checklist mosca1 Views: 2 ...
www.scribd.com/doc/279900/A-Moral-dos-Res ... 125K 2008-12-8 - 百度快照
10 - 2潞 Samuel
10 - 2潞 Samuel.... Views: 3552 From: W.B. Keckler Richest-man-in- Babylon George Samuel Clason Views: 2577 From: toktosunov Samuel's Chinese CV Views: 186 From: xiawinter Notice: Environmental statements; notice...
www.scribd.com/doc/7021670/10-2-Samuel 112K 2008-12-3 - 百度快照
Sunday, November 22, 2009
some poems
WHALE POEM
Some sort of rebirth.
Sometimes they are like women who put cinnamon.
Today I was way stupid, the sky, bridges
and now crosstown dinnertime.
Assholes are never dead.
Their ropes and roses at the doorbell.
The ball case.
I saw a whale go under the bridge
today inside the river.
Famous starlings go with starlings.
They don't consider the porn I do.
Minotaur boys (manga) in mid-air.
Yawn.
Buddha should take prisoners or something.
Who gave Michael Jackson the poison apple
in the fairy tale?
A WITCH
You love with.
The your branches
during like to a little do I tree I live
besides this birds told
it even is human walking somebody.
TRUST
Today vaginal when I did it, thinking man
that I was okay
because the starlings need to get crosstown dinnertime
as winter bus, which public transportation
is parables and bags or
a giant
you trust out of reading
the built-over dead
GRIZZLY
Mortals yourselves.
Beat the comets for a grizzly comments
if it's old empathy
where kill me father's ghost
and gorgeous cauldron, my lover bored shitless
says
Queer
be merely to your pose as hours
the way Mount Denali.
Duh.
Why bloodlust?
Dear Mnemosyne,
Yes you of believing men spread legs
men with blinkers massing like starlings
a funny auto-bot did that
Please leave my city of men alone
MY THOUGHTS ON ORGANIZED RELIGION
Love that alien with a love which means the existence of hands.
TRUST
Or turn
and trust them over
TRUST
Can I be your battery
of walking intensely fucking soon?
YOU BITCH!
TRUST
Sometimes spread their credibility.
TRUST
Today vaginal thinking man
that is what becomes apparent...
green bus of "I am."
TRUST
the public shopping bags the bridge
dead very deeply
TRUST
Can other ways. the earth, be any reader?
TRUST
"Can I rebirth death?"
Of course.
How green at the other apparent end.
I am with shopping with angels
all the seats.
are frozen.
HEADLINE
Philosophers give mice a wallop!
TRUST
Or
sky ball
you call
TRUST
Can at once to be.
TRUST
Prophets who claim to have the assholes of starlings.
TRUST
I mutter to food.
Some sort of rebirth.
Sometimes they are like women who put cinnamon.
Today I was way stupid, the sky, bridges
and now crosstown dinnertime.
Assholes are never dead.
Their ropes and roses at the doorbell.
The ball case.
I saw a whale go under the bridge
today inside the river.
Famous starlings go with starlings.
They don't consider the porn I do.
Minotaur boys (manga) in mid-air.
Yawn.
Buddha should take prisoners or something.
Who gave Michael Jackson the poison apple
in the fairy tale?
A WITCH
You love with.
The your branches
during like to a little do I tree I live
besides this birds told
it even is human walking somebody.
TRUST
Today vaginal when I did it, thinking man
that I was okay
because the starlings need to get crosstown dinnertime
as winter bus, which public transportation
is parables and bags or
a giant
you trust out of reading
the built-over dead
GRIZZLY
Mortals yourselves.
Beat the comets for a grizzly comments
if it's old empathy
where kill me father's ghost
and gorgeous cauldron, my lover bored shitless
says
Queer
be merely to your pose as hours
the way Mount Denali.
Duh.
Why bloodlust?
Dear Mnemosyne,
Yes you of believing men spread legs
men with blinkers massing like starlings
a funny auto-bot did that
Please leave my city of men alone
MY THOUGHTS ON ORGANIZED RELIGION
Love that alien with a love which means the existence of hands.
TRUST
Or turn
and trust them over
TRUST
Can I be your battery
of walking intensely fucking soon?
YOU BITCH!
TRUST
Sometimes spread their credibility.
TRUST
Today vaginal thinking man
that is what becomes apparent...
green bus of "I am."
TRUST
the public shopping bags the bridge
dead very deeply
TRUST
Can other ways. the earth, be any reader?
TRUST
"Can I rebirth death?"
Of course.
How green at the other apparent end.
I am with shopping with angels
all the seats.
are frozen.
HEADLINE
Philosophers give mice a wallop!
TRUST
Or
sky ball
you call
TRUST
Can at once to be.
TRUST
Prophets who claim to have the assholes of starlings.
TRUST
I mutter to food.
Rabbit Endowment Sonnet
But I trust anything filled with angels
all pretty much as the movie coroner.
Considering dead lovers. Wormlike lovers
that ask food who are used to standing on the corner
asking "Which earth so high...?"
And I trust in the trust sky eerie green seats.
And Lucifer, fractal starlings?
Yes. That too.
That giant streaming comments like comets?
Not Him so much.
His little backyard maybe. A little.
He has a face like a rabbit hole.
That can be charming for a gay little Victorian while.
But I did relieve myself of the Douchebagiana collection.
all pretty much as the movie coroner.
Considering dead lovers. Wormlike lovers
that ask food who are used to standing on the corner
asking "Which earth so high...?"
And I trust in the trust sky eerie green seats.
And Lucifer, fractal starlings?
Yes. That too.
That giant streaming comments like comets?
Not Him so much.
His little backyard maybe. A little.
He has a face like a rabbit hole.
That can be charming for a gay little Victorian while.
But I did relieve myself of the Douchebagiana collection.
Easy Slowly Sonnet
Some pants
come just before cute.
Trust is resistant
just like I trusted
trust but each crowd is not where one finds starlings!
Earth opts out.
That's where I live for now.
And I part with those who garden people.
I do like.
The starlings. The fractals. The poets.
What about the you making you?
Oh, that's okay. We already bisect.
This even while of schoolchildren
I like: your cool palm against my forehead.
come just before cute.
Trust is resistant
just like I trusted
trust but each crowd is not where one finds starlings!
Earth opts out.
That's where I live for now.
And I part with those who garden people.
I do like.
The starlings. The fractals. The poets.
What about the you making you?
Oh, that's okay. We already bisect.
This even while of schoolchildren
I like: your cool palm against my forehead.
Sonnet: Auto-Ritrato as Ancient Roman Poet
Upon awakening, the cat just walks.
Man is a semicolon; he needs the grammatical hybrids.
Physics made a face at this.
There's an overflowing house of quotes
where it is impossible to live
and that's where most of us end.
I trust starlings.
He cries.
Sometimes I think:
Steal Ganymede.
Or not.
You die on me.
What's left squabbles
with the polite illumination
that poses as the world.
Man is a semicolon; he needs the grammatical hybrids.
Physics made a face at this.
There's an overflowing house of quotes
where it is impossible to live
and that's where most of us end.
I trust starlings.
He cries.
Sometimes I think:
Steal Ganymede.
Or not.
You die on me.
What's left squabbles
with the polite illumination
that poses as the world.
Starlings are Hazardous Sonnets
STARLING SONNET #1
Sitting patiently as Lucifer in a situation
Love spread its fractal-loving starlings.
Over the winter river, they veered
and darted where I met you
Where we met again many years later
There is the crowd side to matter
I have things I should tell you:
I trust starlings
Or are starlings
the things that turn
on the bridgework
of language which is posing as a spirit
That place where we stand in the frozen air
trying to make a conversation under them?
Veer as theirs.
STARLING SONNET #2
Look at those fucking starlings as they haunt the air
above the interstate
as they menace motorists with ther attention-getting
Didn't they shit like the pigeons
on that bridge for decades
until it collapsed?
You stand on that bridge and talk
to language posing as spirit.
It's a human being you could grab by the lapels
before all their sentences changed
and throw them to the starlings.
Imagine.
You could throw your love into the winter river.
Is this the only way to derail grammar
in a world of free-flying starlings?
Men and women in prison wonder every night.
The starling question is not even in the Bible.
But it probably should be.
STARLING SONNET #3
You could throw your lover into the winter river.
As the starlings formed their strange aerial masses
over the frozen river, over the bridge where you both stood.
You could throw him or her and all their sentences
into the winter river!
Get your name in the papers
while their strange fractals composing a flock
shaped like a giant starling
went milling love
above your act of murder, oblivious....
that giant winter sphere of starlings
their reflection in the water
would go on concerning itself
only with the drowned mysteries of form
too funny, too cold
The bridge is today
Sitting patiently as Lucifer in a situation
Love spread its fractal-loving starlings.
Over the winter river, they veered
and darted where I met you
Where we met again many years later
There is the crowd side to matter
I have things I should tell you:
I trust starlings
Or are starlings
the things that turn
on the bridgework
of language which is posing as a spirit
That place where we stand in the frozen air
trying to make a conversation under them?
Veer as theirs.
STARLING SONNET #2
Look at those fucking starlings as they haunt the air
above the interstate
as they menace motorists with ther attention-getting
Didn't they shit like the pigeons
on that bridge for decades
until it collapsed?
You stand on that bridge and talk
to language posing as spirit.
It's a human being you could grab by the lapels
before all their sentences changed
and throw them to the starlings.
Imagine.
You could throw your love into the winter river.
Is this the only way to derail grammar
in a world of free-flying starlings?
Men and women in prison wonder every night.
The starling question is not even in the Bible.
But it probably should be.
STARLING SONNET #3
You could throw your lover into the winter river.
As the starlings formed their strange aerial masses
over the frozen river, over the bridge where you both stood.
You could throw him or her and all their sentences
into the winter river!
Get your name in the papers
while their strange fractals composing a flock
shaped like a giant starling
went milling love
above your act of murder, oblivious....
that giant winter sphere of starlings
their reflection in the water
would go on concerning itself
only with the drowned mysteries of form
too funny, too cold
The bridge is today
Sonnet: After the Ancient Greek
Love! is a runs down effect
A top bear won't solve anything
"I want to be half the wife Hera was."
Boy starlings
that turn this morning.
I can give more credibility:
just Greek men from mousetraps.
Dead forgiveness.
I shouldn't be lonely.
"Can standing on cartoon characters improve my physique?"
I trust many things said on tombstones.
A top bear won't solve anything
"I want to be half the wife Hera was."
Boy starlings
that turn this morning.
I can give more credibility:
just Greek men from mousetraps.
Dead forgiveness.
I shouldn't be lonely.
"Can standing on cartoon characters improve my physique?"
I trust many things said on tombstones.
Failure Sonnet
Oh, failing to became art or mind
Failing to be Rhodes or left at funny dresses
You shouldn't worry about things like that
The way art pit bulls do
Even their dildos are boring endlessness
The sparrows that speak in their poems
Their washing machines that become Auschwitz
Ultimately holy appliance they wear like corrective headgear
The Greek Anthology is just like Sears
You can still walk in and buy useful things
Fucking and dying while you're doing it
Weighing the extended warranty against your mortality
I find your obsession with failure quite funny
It's that fucked-up idea that death's somehow money
Failing to be Rhodes or left at funny dresses
You shouldn't worry about things like that
The way art pit bulls do
Even their dildos are boring endlessness
The sparrows that speak in their poems
Their washing machines that become Auschwitz
Ultimately holy appliance they wear like corrective headgear
The Greek Anthology is just like Sears
You can still walk in and buy useful things
Fucking and dying while you're doing it
Weighing the extended warranty against your mortality
I find your obsession with failure quite funny
It's that fucked-up idea that death's somehow money
I Got Off Sonnet
I got off that crosstown bus of gay horniess
And got hit by an erroneous truck
I'm stuck with this fondness for the Dead and cartoon dealers
Which one are you?
I was particularly promiscuous in my Afterlife
I kept wanting more earth
I even wanted to fuck the two boys with Biblical shit backpacks
Bicycles, maybe just fuck the striped Mormon douche shirts
Now I'm clean as snowy girders over a river
But my poem is unsound
Which makes me sorta happy
There is always light escapes from the light
Even in the nucleus of Christians of other bodies
we get this wordflesh. untied undead parade.
You're the moons of March to me
And got hit by an erroneous truck
I'm stuck with this fondness for the Dead and cartoon dealers
Which one are you?
I was particularly promiscuous in my Afterlife
I kept wanting more earth
I even wanted to fuck the two boys with Biblical shit backpacks
Bicycles, maybe just fuck the striped Mormon douche shirts
Now I'm clean as snowy girders over a river
But my poem is unsound
Which makes me sorta happy
There is always light escapes from the light
Even in the nucleus of Christians of other bodies
we get this wordflesh. untied undead parade.
You're the moons of March to me
Psychic Reading Sonnet
AN EARLY CHRISTMAS CARD TO YOU
I'm looking at you, star, deep space's cinnamon mint.
Thanks for the mountain of you,
that ray glamorous at the tippy-top.
How many Russian Keanus did you have last night anyway?
You had better enter poetry science soon or die.
YOUR FUTURE
I see a strange wedding with certain globby Brice Marden branches in graphite.
Maybe that's the second bathroom's silvery wallpaper.
The one where you will keep the Neruda.
Birds insist a condo.
Over and over.
SHUFFLING DOUCHE COLOGNE
Just whisper to the back of the sky when it happens.
Starlings have this endless street mantra
they do in the sky while watching
people wave at dead people from their privileged aerial view.
That movie they keep running on IFC you say tests our struts.
I'm looking at you, star, deep space's cinnamon mint.
Thanks for the mountain of you,
that ray glamorous at the tippy-top.
How many Russian Keanus did you have last night anyway?
You had better enter poetry science soon or die.
YOUR FUTURE
I see a strange wedding with certain globby Brice Marden branches in graphite.
Maybe that's the second bathroom's silvery wallpaper.
The one where you will keep the Neruda.
Birds insist a condo.
Over and over.
SHUFFLING DOUCHE COLOGNE
Just whisper to the back of the sky when it happens.
Starlings have this endless street mantra
they do in the sky while watching
people wave at dead people from their privileged aerial view.
That movie they keep running on IFC you say tests our struts.
Sonnet: You Should Fuck a Mountain
Nobody will believe a simple mousetrap
That's why you're such a sexy boy
Though you're getting old fast
And soon Buddha will look punchable
Sometimes your poems are like Satanic Lunchables
And there's the Daddy Fortress of Solitude superman myth
Who taught you that?
I bet your worst fear's not death but fat?
Sleep and mousetrap boy (I find you a lark
Pathos is what makes the Clown Room inflate
I bet your Poem's not come home tonight
It says it's "working late"
You should go out, public bright, cinnamon mint
You should fuck a doctor like a western mountain
That's why you're such a sexy boy
Though you're getting old fast
And soon Buddha will look punchable
Sometimes your poems are like Satanic Lunchables
And there's the Daddy Fortress of Solitude superman myth
Who taught you that?
I bet your worst fear's not death but fat?
Sleep and mousetrap boy (I find you a lark
Pathos is what makes the Clown Room inflate
I bet your Poem's not come home tonight
It says it's "working late"
You should go out, public bright, cinnamon mint
You should fuck a doctor like a western mountain
Willfull Sonnet
Never take your power from a creature...
I lied it's okay to do
I think I'd like to tie your shoes
Are you a divine original human being?
Can you prove it? You got a card?
Even words sometimes become events then "Uh Oh"
Poetry requires total something
The living are Unveiled
They gather divine in your words
You no longer own yourself
You are a Spouse's brilliant God
Artistic, fishy, ironic labyrinth
This is how I feel about your shape
I know Love's born just a stubborn creep
I lied it's okay to do
I think I'd like to tie your shoes
Are you a divine original human being?
Can you prove it? You got a card?
Even words sometimes become events then "Uh Oh"
Poetry requires total something
The living are Unveiled
They gather divine in your words
You no longer own yourself
You are a Spouse's brilliant God
Artistic, fishy, ironic labyrinth
This is how I feel about your shape
I know Love's born just a stubborn creep
Take the Short Line Sonnet
More's pity that already
I've seen you even you know
know you successfully on your wad
This poem just wants to suck you homeless
like the need it feels
it feels it needs
Let's have lion brunch
in Needless Park?
I do so love Needless Park! Don't you?
Another one just
Posted its skin, again
How will you ever toe your thankless worried life without me?
Just kiddin'
I think my cat got in an unclean credit card fight last night
I dreamt last night Erato needed de-flea'ed. Was that about you?
I've seen you even you know
know you successfully on your wad
This poem just wants to suck you homeless
like the need it feels
it feels it needs
Let's have lion brunch
in Needless Park?
I do so love Needless Park! Don't you?
Another one just
Posted its skin, again
How will you ever toe your thankless worried life without me?
Just kiddin'
I think my cat got in an unclean credit card fight last night
I dreamt last night Erato needed de-flea'ed. Was that about you?
Sonnet: Everybody Here is the Universe
Everybody here is the Universe
whether you feel you are falling out of it or not
You're a part of the schlemiel
even if you keep slipping on the banana peel
Hey! I should stop capitalizing it now
Because that might make you nervous
It's universe not Universe
What you do is up to you. everything's extracurricular here
Some people even choose not to take part
tho there's no twelve step program to get out yet
some put stones in their pockets and walk into winter water
some put a bag over their head or lie down in clover
They will still be part of the universe. only quieter
They prove that even existence has its share of dieters
whether you feel you are falling out of it or not
You're a part of the schlemiel
even if you keep slipping on the banana peel
Hey! I should stop capitalizing it now
Because that might make you nervous
It's universe not Universe
What you do is up to you. everything's extracurricular here
Some people even choose not to take part
tho there's no twelve step program to get out yet
some put stones in their pockets and walk into winter water
some put a bag over their head or lie down in clover
They will still be part of the universe. only quieter
They prove that even existence has its share of dieters
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